


La Coccinelle the Vigilante

by Bluetreeleaves



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Hardships of being a superhero, La Coccinelle the Vigilante, Mild-PTSD for realism, Miraculous Ladybug Origins, Slow Romance, artwork, chat noir - Freeform, past ladybug - Freeform, reverse love square
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 21:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 94,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluetreeleaves/pseuds/Bluetreeleaves
Summary: A tale about a past Ladybug: France 1889, a time of laced corsets, top hats, and high-class aristocracy. As a threat emerges from the shadows, it'll take a vigilante and a black cat to protect Paris. If only she can figure out her handsome partner's real identity - and get free pastries from a friendly baker boy.This is the story of Coccinelle the Vigilante.





	1. Origins Part 1

 

The mid-morning weather was perfect for month of May. The day promised to be cool and pleasant for the Exposition Universelle. Her bedroom window, overlooking the lovely front gardens, shimmered with sunlight, the iridescent curtains swaying in the light breeze.  
  
Solene's blue eyes clenched as the laces snapped her spine to a straight line and the burgundy corset cut across her breast. Holding her breath, she clutched tightly to the bedpost with whitening fingertips as her old maid yanked relentlessly, tightening her waist to a narrow point. With a light sigh, feeling the laces being tied off, Solene brushed a bit of flyaway raven hair out of her face and turned with her arms up to be drowned in red fabric. Her vision was covered in lace and ribbons for a moment before the lovely crimson gown filtered perfectly over her small frame.  
  
"Thank Dieu for corsets. We may snag you a husband yet!" The elderly woman smirked as she straightened the ruffled cuffs of Solene's red dress. It dipped low at her chest - yet high enough for modesty's sake - and flared from her bound waist to fall into layered ruffles down to her ankles. Her maid's wizened fingers zoomed straight to Solene's chest and pushed up her small breasts without another word. Solene jumped back with a gasp.  
  
"Marjoline!" She winced as she hit the bedpost with her elbow. "Stop already!"  
  
"Gotta fluff up your girls a little more, mon coeur. You're finally starting to fill out." The elderly woman nodded approvingly as Solene straightened the little she had with blushing cheeks. "Took you long enough. That Bourgeois brat has already gone to the next size in undergarments!"  
  
"How do you know that?" Solene asked, hating the envy that swam inside her stomach. Claudette Bourgeois would have that kind of rumor spreading about her. Not quite friends, not quite enemies, Solene knew the high-class girl only suffered through her presence at social gatherings because her father was a large patron for the newest, most popular symbol in Paris: The Eiffel Tower. With this Exposition today, the Montilyets would go down in history.  
  
And that gave Solene a status - a very rich status.  
  
"I shop with her head maid -who refuses to shut up about it. To gushing about something like that," the maid snorted, "seems her figure is the only thing going for her. Too bad that's all young men these days seem to care about."  
  
"This entire getup is pointless. I'm not going to find a husband at the Exposition. I don't care about attracting anyone."  
  
"Ah, yes, all you care about are your silly stories. What's the new one this time?"  
  
"Books are not silly!" Solene snapped back, truly offended. "And it's called Treasure Island. It's amazing-"  
  
"Before you go in La-La Land spouting off book nonsense, I don't read, I will never read, and I don't care about it. Now sit so I can do something I care about, which is make you presentable for this affair."  
  
Sighing and rolling her eyes at Marjoline's turned back, she followed the old maid across the room to her vanity and plopped on the cushioned seat with a huff. Marjoline's hands instantly began parting her thick dark locks to twist into elaborate designs.  
  
Having been with the Montilyets for more than three decades, the old woman was more of a mother than maid. Especially when she started going off about all the available bachelors that floated in their social circle. Having lost her own mother when she was a child, Solene took comfort in the fact she had someone as dependable - if not a bit deranged - as dear Marjoline.  
  
And speaking of deranged…  
  
"You just wait! You can meet a suitable potential under the most unexpected of circumstances," Marjoline said with a wise glint in her brown eyes. The gray wisps escaping her bun, she gave the young girl a wink in the mirror before snatching a pin from the vanity. "Besides, you shall be a belle of the party at this Expo. Mark my words. If that young rascal, Bernard Abelin, would just look your way for a moment, he would never give that Bourgeois chit another glance."  
  
"Urgh, Bernard?" Solene made a face. "He's just as conceded as Claudette! They deserve each other!"  
  
"He is handsome, old money, great prospects, and a tie to the royal line - through his mother's family tree if I remember correctly," Marjoline argued around a pin in her mouth. Sweeping another elaborate twist, she scowled. "He would be a perfect match for you."  
  
Solene rolled her eyes and Marjoline clicked her tongue critically.  
  
"No eye-rolling, young lady! Men don't want a sassy wife."  
  
"Who says I want a husband?"  
  
"Not this again…" The maid groaned while pinning another portion of her hair.  
  
"I don't!"  
  
"Bite your tongue!"  
  
"I'm serious, Marjoline!" Solene frowned at herself in the mirror despite her hair becoming a beautiful twist around her head. "Why is it every single social event I attend always revolves around if I can get a man? I'd rather just stay home if that's the case!"  
  
"And lose to that Bourgeois brat? Not while I still draw breath!"  
  
"Claudette Bourgeois can have them! She can have all of them! I don't want to get married! There is absolutely no one in Paris who is worth my time! The City of Love doesn't exist!"  
  
"Your dramatics do you no credit, young lady." The old woman scolded before a sigh escaped her lips. She finished the last pin in Solene's hair. Her arms dropping to her side, the young girl caught the tired look in her eye before she could cover it. "Someday you will grow up and find someone worthy of you, ma coeur. You'll find the one meant for you. It may not be Monsieur Abelin as I would want, but there is someone out there for you. Just… don't write romance off too easily."  
  
"I'm not built for such nonsense," Solene dismissed, turning away from her vanity and standing to brush her skirts. With a defeated exhale, she reached over and snatched Marjoline's wrinkled hand, pulling the old woman close. Wrapping her arms around the maid's thin shoulders, she whispered, "I promise you if I ever find anyone worthy of my time, I will grovel on my knees and proclaim that you were right and I was wrong for an entire fortnight."  
  
"Make that two fortnights," Marjoline chuckled and returned the hug.  
  
"It's not going to be Bernard though."  
  
"You're too good for him anyway, mon coeur."  
  
  
**********************

  
"Gaspard! Grab the croissants!"  
  
"Yes, Papa!" The young man called from the back, flicking the blond hair out of his brilliant green eyes.  
  
He snatched up the tray of newly baked croissants and balanced both it and the basket of wrapped macarons on his shoulders as he shuffled out the back room. Upon entering the front of the bakery, he hurried to the heating rack just as another customer stepped up. His father, Marcus Dupain, was a thick man with dark hair and heavy arms built for baking. His son, however, was quite the opposite: tall, lean, and fair as a sunflower. He was strong in his own right, but he took after his mother in appearance.  
  
Watching his son from the corner of his eye, a sly grin slipped on his lips at the blustering young woman who blushed as Gaspard handed her the basket.  
  
"Pour vous, Mademoiselle." Gaspard Dupain smiled at the young woman, who grasped the basket with both hands and stumbled out of the shop as if hit by an arrow of love.  
  
"Four baguettes!" Marcus shouted, taking the next order.  
  
"On it!" Gaspard instantly leaped over the counter and slid to the wrapped baguettes. Plucking out four, he handed them to Marcus with a sideways grin.  
  
"Busy day, Papa!"  
  
"The loaves in the oven are ready, mon fils!" Marcus ordered, and his son's green eyes widened charmingly before he raced to the back of the shop to pull them out.  
  
"You and your son make quite the baker's pair." The older gentleman laughed as he placed his baguettes into his shopping satchel.  
  
"I can't run the shop without him." Dupain grinned and gave the man his change. "He's not bad for business either…" Glancing over the gentleman's shoulder, they both looked at the chattering group of ladies standing in line behind him. The line was almost out the door. "You are fortunate to get here so early, Monsieur Révérer. We will be closing temporarily today to sell our pastries at the Exposition. I wanted to test the new éclairs."  
  
"New éclairs? Got a new recipe?" Révérer asked interestedly, moving aside so the young lady behind him could order.  
  
Dupain nodded. "Gaspard thought it up. Baker's instincts are the only thing he inherited from me."  
  
"I'll take one then!" Révérer announced, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.  
  
"Dozen croissants, please," the girl said breathlessly as Gaspard appeared from around back once more carrying six large loaves on a tray. Her dark eyes followed his back and Marcus struggled to hide his laugh. Turning to the rack, he plucked up the plump croissants with tongs and put them into the wax paper spread on the long counter top just as his son finished loading the bread. Letting Gaspard take over the girl's order, which made her blush and practically swoon, Marcus opened the glass case of delicacies just below the counter. Snatching up an éclair, he handed it to the gentleman.  
  
"Will you be at the Expo?"  
  
"Celebrating the opening of our Paris' masterpiece? Wouldn't miss it!" The gentleman's eyes lit up at the éclair. "I'll also be looking for you for another one of these!"  
  
"Gaspard will be there instead of me. I have a cake to make," Marcus said proudly. "He is taking the cart."  
  
"I will try to see him there then!"  
   
Jacque Révérer left with a cheery wave and the morning continued. Gaspard and Marcus served the customers as a perfect team, practically reading each other's thoughts. As the line finally began to dwindle, Marcus counted the leftover baguettes and was pleasantly surprised to find only three remained from the twelve dozen he'd baked early that morning. The éclairs and macarons to be sold at the Exposition were getting bundled into the small cart by Gaspard; however, many of the pasties in the case had been sold. All in all, the morning rush couldn't have gone better. Sending the last customer off with two loaves of white bread, he locked the door and let out a deep exhale. The steady chaos of the day made the silence seem almost foreign. Heading around back, he spied his son carrying the delicately wrapped pastries out the back door to the cart. Picking up a basket of leftover croissants, he passed Gaspard on the way out.  
  
"Closed the front?" His son asked.  
  
Dupain grunted for 'yes'. "Last customer's gone. As soon as we get you packed up, I'll get started on that cake."  
  
"Don't frost without me!" Gaspard's light voice called and Marcus let out a loud laugh, setting the basket into the wooden cart. The day was beautiful, clear, and lovely. It was a perfect for the Expo. He hoped his son would have fun despite working through it. Knowing Gaspard, however, the boy'd make sure to sell every single piece of pastry before even looking at the tower. Dependable, reliable, and kind to a fault, Marcus counted himself blessed to have such a helpful son.  
  
Especially since Eliza's passing two years ago...  
  
"If these éclairs sell well, I'll consider making them a staple in the display case," Marcus said as Gaspard's blond head appeared at the doorway. "And since you are doing all the grunt work going today, how about I let you pick the frosting and design for this cake."  
  
Settling the last of the pastries into the cart, his son sighed and smiled. "Actually, I'm a bit nervous to go to the Expo. I wonder what kind of people will be there."  
  
His father chuckled. "The people there are customers. Just give 'em the ol' charm and we'll be sold out in no time. Better change out of those flour-stained pants though. You'll never find a belle that way."  
  
"Papaaa…" Gaspard rolled his green eyes, but his smile grew wider. "I'll change, but only to look more presentable for our store."  
  
His son turned back to the bakery door and Marcus couldn't help himself.  
  
"And comb your hair!"  
  
  
**********************

  
He had to do this quickly. It would only be a matter of days before the akumas began to appear.  
  
The young boy, his thin eyes peering through a worn newsy cap, waited near the wall, watching across the street as the father, Marcus Dupain, locked the heavy door for the day. Straightening the heavy satchel strapped to his shoulders, he fiddled with the green bracelet around his small wrist.  
  
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" A little green head poked from the satchel’s leather flap. "You don’t have the means for traditional tests of skill. You cannot guarantee that he'll be a good fit. It might turn into-"  
  
"Wayzz…" The young boy sighed and shifted his light-brown eyes to the small turtle creature. "What other choices do I have? With the temple destroyed...” an ancient pain laced behind his eyes that didn’t match his youth, “...I have no one else.”  
  
“But you’ve got me, Fu,” Wayzz murmured quietly. The boy’s lips curled affectionately, his small fingers continuing to play with the jade bracelet.  
  
“We still need protection. A line of defense. With the Butterfly taken, he has the power in his hands to overwhelm even your shields, Wayzz. Think if he gets his hands on the book? Or other Miraculous?” Fu shook his head, his hand lowering to grab the satchel protectively. “No. This is the best course of action. It’s what Master would have done. Paris is an old city with powerful magic at its core. There have been some splendid Chosen from here.”  
  
“But whomever you choose will have no training, no true understanding of their gifts!”  
  
“That is what their kwami is for, right? You taught me.”  
  
“Not that I had a choice in the matter.”  
  
“We both didn’t, my friend.”  
  
A hard cross of silence fell between kwami and human.  
  
“I’ll awaken only the Ladybug and the Cat,” Fu said after a moment. “That will be more than enough to hold back Butterfly’s akumas. They will distract him while I find his lair.”  
  
"Being a kwami of wisdom, I can spy quite a few holes in this plan of yours - the biggest being if you choose the right people for the job. How much will you tell them? And are you sure you’re ready to test? We only just got here a month ago and you already think you have a chosen?" The turtle's voice was lilting skeptically.  
  
"I don’t have time to second guess myself. He hands out dozens of croissants to the street children every day. You can see the kindness in his eyes. There’s a compassion for people that is rare these days."  
  
"The free food is nice, but how will you test him? Kindness doesn’t equate to courage or valor."  
  
Fu didn't answer, but there was a glint of mischievousness in his eye.  
  
The green kwami sighed. "You're not going to tell me, are you? Fine then, can you promise me we aren't going to die today?"  
  
"Not if he saves us."  
  
"Oh, Dieu…"

  
**********************

  
Solene scratched her chin as the carriage rolled on the cobblestone pathway towards Pont d'Iena. Watching the scenery pass her by, the buildings finally cleared to show the lovely Seine River. The rocking waters sparkled in the bright noon sunlight. Releasing a low sigh, she automatically tuned out the chattering conversations of Claudette and her cronies and thought back to the newest part in Treasure Island. She could just see the pirate ship floating in the Seine, her imagination practically recreating what she'd read: Smollett's refusal to surrender the map and "Long John" Silver threatening to attack, swishing his raiser to the sky in fierce declaration. The sea breeze tossing his long captain's coat and playing with the tall, white feather on his salt-eaten Buccaneer hat-  
  
"What do you think, Solene?" A voice cropped through her image of the pirate and she twisted her eyes from the invisible ship to the three ladies staring at her. Having no idea what they could possibly have been speaking about for the past ten minutes, she took a stab in the dark.  
  
"Sounds dull."  
  
"I know? Utterly dull! I would never want to visit that place ever again! Oh, and the lace there was from three seasons ago! Don't they realize red is in?" Claudette broke out in her usual ramble, her light blue eyes slipping over Solene's crimson dress. Much to the raven-haired girl's chagrin, the Bourgeois had somehow figured out exactly what Solene was planning to wear to this Expo and decided to match as close as possible.  
  
"To show how close we are!" Claudette had cooed once she'd climbed into the carriage and saw.  
  
Solene had inwardly cringed.  
  
The carriage slowed as the crowd began to grow thicker. Then they turned the corner and the tower was in full sight.  
  
"Look at it!" Claudette gasped, leaning over one of her friends to get a closer look out the window. "It's hideous!"  
  
"I heard it is the tallest man-made structure in the world!"  
  
"Bernard told me that the inspiration for it was from some observatory in New York. Apparently, he was having dinner with Maurice Koechlin, who was one of the senior engineers. He frequently visits the Abelin's home for parties and such. I've asked Bernard to extend the invitation to my family the next time he comes. I'm sure Bernard would do that even if I didn't ask. He's such a-"  
  
Whatever Bernard was, Solene was back to tuning out Claudette as her blue eyes focused on the new symbol of Paris. She had seen glimpses of the blueprints on her father's desk, but hadn't been able to imagine what it could possibly look like.  
  
And now, standing like France's own Pyramid of Giza, the Eiffel Tower was in full display.  
  
"I thought it was going to be a different color! Why rust orange? Bleck!" Claudette laughed.  
  
It wasn't too long - or in Solene's mind, an eternity - that the carriage couldn't go any further due to the crowd. Stepping out gratefully, Solene grasped the footman's hand and hurried off the street to the sidewalk. As the other girls filed in behind her, she led the way across the bridge towards the monument. Vendors, balloons, laughter, conversations, and the rush of a clear breeze brought the smile back to Solene's face.  
  
She might have said she didn't believe in The City of Love to Marjoline, but right then, she truly felt the beautiful city as a whole.  
  
   
**********************

  
Gaspard walked the streets of his city, people's eyes sliding curiously to both him and the cart as he passed. He smiled, nodding at a few familiar faces, but all in all, he walked alone to the Exposition, following the meandering crowd. Dressed in his nicest clean white shirt and brown suspenders, he wondered if wearing his flour-covered pants would have been a problem. People of all shapes and dress were out and about, loud conversations and laughter filling the air. No wonder the bakery had such a good morning. It was only a few blocks away from the Pont d'Iena.  
  
Rolling the cart, his mind idly skimming over various flavors of frosting he could put on the cake when he got home, he almost missed the loud scream. A thunder of hooves on cobblestone and someone ahead of him shouting, "runaway horse!" stopped him completely. His green eyes quickly slipping to the streets, he finally spied the horse, a red roan, galloping wildly with eyes rolling. People parted, men tried to make a grab for it - which spooked the animal further.  
  
And then Gaspard saw something that made his stomach twist. A young boy in a newsy cap was standing in the street, his back facing the rampaging horse.  
  
"Fuyez!" He shouted to the boy, who didn't seem to notice the pandemonium around him. "Run away!" Without another thought, his hands left the cart, his feet moved forward, and he dashed out into the street. The red roan was closing in. Gaspard pushed his long legs-  
  
And snatching the boy's thin waist, he rolled just in time for the horse to thunder past. Holding him close lying on the street, he was panting with adrenaline. His left arm was stinging, but everything else seemed to be working fine.  
  
"Are you alright?" He asked the boy. Releasing the youngster, he rose to his knees and glanced at his arm. A large angry whelp was growing, but his green eyes left his wound to immediately scan the boy. He was foreign, from the Far East. His eyes were light with intelligence. Gaspard hadn't noticed before, but a tattered leather satchel was strapped to his thin shoulders. His shirt was streaked with dirt and his pants had small holes at the knees.  
  
Another poor lost child on the street.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked again, gently.  
  
"Merci, jeune homme," the boy said, with a taste of an accent. He bowed his head politely. Gaspard started with surprise at the 'young man' comment.  
  
"That was very brave of you. I would have been dead if you hadn't saved me."  
  
"I just did what anyone else would have done," Gaspard said with a smile and bashfully rubbed the back of his blond hair. "You try to stay out of trouble, okay?"  
  
A sudden thought crossed the young man's features and he grinned. "Oh, wait! Come here!" He stood and gently touched the boy's shoulder, guiding him back to his momentarily forgotten cart. Crossing the street, Gaspard's hand left the boy to open the top. He fished out an éclair and held it out to him. The boy took the treat and stared at him with a look of incredulous surprise. His thin eyes slipped from Gaspard's smile to the tasty éclair in his little fingers.  
  
"I don't have any money."  
  
Gaspard laughed good-naturedly. "You don't pay for a gift. Are you headed to the Exposition?"  
  
The boy nodded shyly, his head ducking sweetly.  
  
"You can walk with me if you want," Gaspard offered. "I'll make sure no more horses get you."  
  
"I-I have to go…" the boy mumbled before turning to run off down the street. Gaspard blinked, watching him disappear in the crowd, before shrugging and picking up the handles of his cart once more.  
  
  
**********************

  
"You almost killed us!" The kwami hissed angrily once Fu had swiveled down an abandoned alleyway. "A rampaging horse! Are you insane?"  
  
"He's perfect!" Fu grinned, taking a huge bite out of the delicious éclair and spoke with a mouth full. "I told you he would pass my test!"  
  
"But who is he perfect for? The Ladybug or The Cat?" The turtle asked before he scowled again. "I can't believe you just stood there! It took everything for me to not come out and save you myself! I may give you longevity, but you can still be physically killed, Fu!"  
  
"Are you done with the lecture, Wayzz?" Fu sighed. "Be excited! We found one!"  
  
"Yes, I'll admit he's a good choice. But what about-"  
  
"The yin to his yang?" Fu interrupted with a thoughtful look. His young eyes slipped to the bustling crowd outside his alleyway. "I'll have to keep looking. They are out there somewhere. Guess we are going to the Exposition."  
  
The kwami groaned. "You're not going to try and kill us again, are you? Jump off the tower? Drown in the Seine?"  
  
"Hmm… not a bad thought, mon amie," Fu chuckled before tucking the kwami back into his satchel.  
  
   
**********************  
   
     
Solene felt Claudette's arm wrap around her own and she sighed. Escorted by several officials to the higher-class area, she had passed underneath the tower and was standing in the lovely gardens of the Champ de Mars. Walking to a table with goblets of water, fruit punch, and champagne, she took a water and forced herself to daintily sip the drink. Red parasol shielding the wonderful sun from her face, she glanced at the long crowd that surrounded their private party. Her blue eyes slipped to the vendors, the passing men and women happily playing the available games, the children running back and forth with laughter. She sighed again as Claudette's continual rant ended on a questioning note and she knew she needed to respond with something again.  
  
"How dull."  
  
"This is what I like about you, Solene! You think everything is beneath you!" Claudette chirped.  
  
That comment made her stomach curl with irritation. Despite Claudette’s gushing compliments, Solene could taste the faux behind it.  
  
Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a companion with a sense of imagination! Someone who she could dream with and would actually talk about something interesting for once. Or they could say nothing at all. Silence would be nice, too.  
  
Unfortunately...  
  
"When are we going to go up the tower already?" Claudette complained. "The sooner we climb these stairs and break our backs, the sooner we can head back and I can take a long hot bath. All this work was for nothing, Solene! The Abelin's aren't even here! Bernard won’t even see my new dress! You have totally called it! This Exposition is dull!"  
  
It wasn't dull on the other side of this party. The streets looked fun...  
  
Closing her eyes and gathering her courage, Solene gently unwrapped her arm from Claudette's and kept her voice polite and cordial - through clenched teeth. "I need to speak to someone about something important. I'll be gone for just a moment. Wait here for me, Claudette."  
  
"Hey, wait-"  
  
But the raven-haired girl was already hurrying away in her full skirts, trying to pretend she was running with dignity to a certain destination. Dress swishing around her feet, locks of her dark hair escaped Marjoline's lovely twists. The wind seemed to brush her forward, pushing her towards a new unknown.  
  
She passed several officials who quirked their eyebrows up at her peculiar behavior, but she ignored their pointed canes, champagne flutes, and haughty eyes. Instead, she crossed over the grassy line that separated her and everyone else. Breathless and looking at the miraculous crowd of her city, she finally felt the fullness of the Exposition.  
  
She raised her parasol.  
  
And smiled.  
  
   
**********************

  
The Tower was magnifique!  
  
Gaspard's green eyes lit up at the number of Parisians that had come for the Exposition.  
  
Lifting the cart's lid and letting the natural scent of baked goods draw a crowd, he had already sold quite a bit before a splash of red suddenly caught his eye.  
  
Holding out a package of macarons, his hand froze, his lips fell open, and he felt as if a thunderbolt had struck inside his head. Dark hair wrapped in elegant twists, ocean blue eyes slipping over the busy crowd, the girl looked around as if she was an angel visiting earth for the first time. A parasol of crimson lace rose over her delicate head and, as a smile lifted on her mouth, his heart rushed in his ears. Feeling a sickly twist in his stomach, the customer yank on the box in his hand and he let go with a blink of surprise. With tongue dry, his gaze slipped back to the red vision and he almost cried out as she turned to head towards the tower.  
  
He still had several customers waiting, but he couldn't stop himself.  
  
"Please excuse me for one moment," he said with a croak. "I will be back shortly."  
  
Closing the top of the crate, he stepped away from the cart and hurried after her. His footsteps followed her path, trying to close in the gap between them. His green eyes were glued to that vibrant red.  
  
Suddenly, she stopped and, as if by magic, she turned her head to catch his gaze. Blue rocked into green and his feet caught on the cobblestone. He stumbled clumsily forward and barely caught himself before colliding into her. Straightening up, he blushed as she looked up at him curiously.  
  
"Bonjour," he said lamely.  
  
"Salut." Her voice was lovely. Soft and dignified. Her confusion was palpable on her beautiful face.  
  
Gaspard's hand shyly rubbed the back of his neck. His face felt hot. Embarrassment and something warm fluttered inside his rib-cage. She was looking at him wonderingly with those startling sapphire eyes. Her skin was clear and pale. Like a snowflake. Gaspard forced his gaze to go no lower than her neck, but he could see the defining line of cleavage from his viewpoint. She was unambiguously beautiful, like one of those flawless porcelain dolls at the store a block down from the bakery. Gazing up at him from thick eyelashes, she was obviously waiting for him to say something.  
  
"I wa-was wondering if you wanted to éclair a try, I mean, try an éclair. I-I'm a baker, you see, and I'm selling them."  
  
"Oh." Her simple reply rang like Notre Dame bells inside his ears. "I didn't bring any money with me."  
  
"That's fine! Perfectly fine! I'll let you try one for free! Consider it a gift! You pay for gifts! I mean, you don't pay for gifts!" Gaspard gasped out. "I'm trying to sell them, but you can have one for free! Oh, wait, I already said that, didn't I?"  
  
Washing in his mortification, he was surprised when she lifted a small hand and giggled into her delicate fingertips. Blue eyes gleaming with humor, she smiled brightly and nodded.  
  
"I'd love to try one."  
  
"You would!? I mean, of course, my cart's over here." He pointed over his shoulder and he watched her eyes slip from him to the grassy park. A touch of worry flashed across her pretty face and he turned to glance back. That was where all the aristocracy were having their party.  
  
Where she'd come out of.  
  
"Are they looking for you?" He asked and she blinked back up at him.  
  
"Probably, but I would rather have an éclair." The worry left and was replaced by a heart-stopping smile.  
  
"Absolutely, right this way!" Gaspard grinned happily, motioning her to go ahead of him. Guiding her to his cart, he was disappointed to see the line had grown in his absence. He wondered how he'd be able to give her a free one without angering the rest of his customers.  
  
"Your pastries seem to be quite popular," she commented, her fingers spinning her parasol. "These éclairs must be wonderful."  
  
"They better be. It's my recipe." It wasn't boasting if it was the truth, right? Despite that, his chest puffed as she turned to him in surprise.  
  
"Your recipe? And you have this many customers?" To his delight, she looked very impressed.  
  
"My family owns the Boulangerie Patisserie. I learned from the best there ever was."  
  
The sun hit her lovely eyes so they sparkled and he found himself grinning foolishly into them.  
  
She was so beautiful.  
  
"Baker Boy! There you are! I've been waiting!" An older woman snapped and he blinked in surprise. Beside him, the beautiful girl gigged.  
  
"Your customers await." She smiled brightly, and to his sharp disappointment, she turned to head back to the Tower. "I’ll take a rain check on that éclair."  
  
"You promise?" He found himself saying, catching her wrist in his hand. Her breath caught and her eyes flipped from his gentle grasp back to his eyes. Realizing he was touching her, Gaspard swiftly let her go as if burned by candlewax. She dropped into a small curtsy, her bluebell eyes lowering like a true lady.  
  
"Of course, Baker Boy," she promised with a bit of a sassy grin growing on her lips. "Boulangerie Patisserie, right?"  
  
"Y-yes," Gaspard stammered and his green eyes couldn't help following her as she left him.  
  
"Look back," he whispered under his breath, waiting and watching. "Look back at me…"  
  
His heart caught in his chest as, before she could disappear completely, she turned back to give him a small wave with her fingers. He waved back like a love-struck fool and the smile on his face was too happy for a simple baker with a long line waiting to buy his pastries.  
  
No, this was something different. Something special.  
  
Also, he was suddenly very grateful he'd changed out of his flour-stained pants.   
  
   
**********************

  
Light brown eyes watched with interest as the young lady in red walked away from Gaspard, her blue eyes flicking over the tower. There was something unusual about her. Dressed in the fancy getup of high society, there was a spark about her that Fu instantly liked.  
  
And, if she caught the eye of that nice baker, there was something more to her than meets the eye.  
  
He sensed the same kindness, the same gentle compassion that enveloped the boy.  
  
Wayzz glanced at Fu's grin and sighed.  
  
"So, how are we going to test her?" he asked without bothering to ask who.  
  
Fu snorted a laugh. "You know me too well, Wayzz."  
  
“I’d like to think I do and yet you seem to surprise me at every turn.”  
  
Fu pressed a finger to his lips in contemplation before a dangerous gleam appeared in his eye.  
  
"Fu?" Wayzz's worried voice broke as a small chuckle escaped the young boy.  
  
"Why are you laughing?"

 


	2. Origins Part 2

A small giggle escaped her lips as she felt the Baker Boy's eyes following her back. Well, _that_ was quite unexpected.

" _You can meet a suitable potential under the most unexpected of circumstances."_

Brushing Marjoline's comments from this morning out of her mind, she scoffed. A baker? No. He was cute, she'd give him that, but she was part of a different crowd. The high society of Paris.

Still, she did like pastries. If she ever found the time to visiting his bakery, it would just be an act of a patroness supporting the local shops and vendors to boost France's middle working class.

Yes, that's why she would visit. Maybe. Someday.

But he had said he was giving her a _free_ one, so technically it wasn't supporting the working class…

With a groan at her thoughts, she let her rambling mind settle and decided to walk slowly through the tight crowd. The feeling was an elation. Celebration. A small child ducked behind her, using her bell skirts as a hiding place before the girl ran off laughing, chasing another child. Smiling, her blue eyes fell on a couple passionately lip-locked in a corner of the tower and she blushed brightly.

Averting her gaze, Solene continued her leisure stroll - leaving from under the tower to the blocked streets. Brushing off a vendor that called for her to buy his paintings, she crossed the street and took the steps down to the beautiful Seine.

The image of "Long John" Silver crept back as she watched the rippling waves. A rascal, a rogue, fighting for treasure maps and buried gold.

Oh, to be a vigilante like that.

There was a gasp and a cry from a woman above her. Solene glanced up sharply to see an older woman pointing down into the water of the Seine.

Following the woman's finger, Solene's heart stopped. A small boy was struggling against the river's current. He must have fallen in!

It was as if time slowed for her. She scanned the area, her eyes grasping for something, _anything_ , to save the boy. Then she remembered! Her parasol! She saw the hook at the end.

Perfect.

Glancing down at herself, she knew Marjoline was going kill her later.

Her fingers grabbed the long red ribbon woven throughout the front of her dress and she yanked about a meter and a half of lovely silk from her bodice. Her long, beautiful gown falling a bit off her shoulders, she closed the parasol, tied the ribbon securely around the top of it, and sprinted to the edge.

 _"Garçon! Ici!"_ She cried out as the boy floundered in the water. Plunging down the slippery steps into the Seine, she threw the parasol towards him. It floated to him and he struggled to grab hold – and his hand missed.

The water slugging at her calves, she pushed herself a little further into the water. She pulled the parasol back and threw it again. This time, the boy caught it, his small hands grasping the hook tightly. Pulling him in was harder than she thought. Her shoulders shook as she fought the river's heavy current.

"Hold onto it! I've almost got you!" she shouted. It was give and take, sweat starting to bead on her forehead, before she finally gave one final tug and the boy's hands were able to release the parasol and grab her ruined skirts. She let go of the ribbon - which had made red streaks on her palms - and her hands wrapped around his thin waist. Pulling him against her, she tripped on her soggy dress and they fell backwards together on the safety of dry land. Panting, shaking, and holding the drenched boy close, her blue eyes opened to see the brilliant sky above. Her heart raced, her mind blanked.

A scream above her head woke her and she realized she was lying on the concrete with a little boy in her arms. With a gasp, Solene sat up, glancing up at the bridge where the scream had come from.

Her heart cringed.

Blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight, familiar crimson red dress… Claudette had seen her.

With a tight sigh, her blue eyes slipped to the boy just as he looked up at her. He was on his knees, his eyes staring at her incredulously. He was thin, tattered, and so very young. Her heart went out to him as she watched his small chest heave with panting breaths underneath a dirty buttoned shirt.

"Are you alright?" She asked kindly. "Did you fall in?"

"You-You saved me…" he said softly, as if unable to believe his luck. "You did it…"

"At the cost of fashion, yes," she joked, glancing down at her ruined gown with a snort. "I'm thankful I come with plenty of ribbons and a handy parasol. Are you going to be okay? Where are your parents?"

The boy just shook his head, his thin eyes slipping to something behind her head.

"I-I better go!" he said tensely and stood with quaking, knobby knees. Spinning on toe, the boy ran away from her to the shadow of the bridge.

"Wait! Are you sure you're alright?" Solene called, attempting to stand with her legs tangled in her wet dress. She flopped back to the ground with a grunt.

"Solene!" Claudette's chirping voice snipped in the air. "Oh, Solene! We've been looking everywhere for you! We suspected something terrible had happened!"

Groaning, the raven-haired girl glanced over at the blond as she daintily took the steps down towards her. Several snarling officials were behind her, their male voices tossing angrily. They came close and she watched as Claudette took in the utter ruin of her outfit with sick delight behind her light blue eyes.

The scandalous way her dress draped off her shoulder, the loose fabric at her chest that had once been held secure by the red ribbon, and her hair practically falling about her shoulders.

"Solene!" A familiar voice called and her heart sank further.

Father…

His lips were twisted with underlining fury, his pale face crunched in sharp disapproval. "What in God's name are you doing!?"

"There was a little boy drowning, Father! I was-I was trying t-to..." She was stumbling, her panic and adrenaline at his anger making her stutter. "I-I saved him and-"

"Look at the state of you!" He growled, pushing Claudette aside and grabbing her upper arm to help her stand. "You are an utter disgrace!"

"But I-"

"Silence! I'm taking you back to the carriage! We will speak later when I get home!"

Closing her mouth with a snap, she knew trying to reason with her father when he was in his temper would only dig her grave further. So, she let his strong hand pull her to the stairs and onto the bridge. Holding her dress up on her chest with one hand, she kept her blue eyes down to avoid the staring faces. Shame and embarrassment burned her cheeks, but she refused to cry. Despite her father's anger and the potential damage she'd caused to her reputation, she held the boy's grateful face at the forefront of her mind.

 _"You saved me…"_ He'd said to her, the awe vibrant in his light-brown eyes.

With that, her eyes lifted and she glanced at the dark waters of the Seine, ignoring the hard grip on her hand by her father, the gossipy chatter of the two officials behind her, and Claudette's smug look as she followed. Solene imaged the pirate ship in the water. The black Jolly Roger flag waving proudly. Her pirate, a vibrant green and red parrot perching on his shoulder, tipped his buccaneer hat up to her as he put a steady boot on the starboard bow of his monstrous ship.

Adventure, bravery - freedom.

Her tiny ray of light was quenched as she saw the carriage ahead and her father's awaiting scowl.

*************************

"I can't breathe - I can't think – I might be hyperventilating - when I had said 'drowning in the Seine', I didn't mean _actually_ drowning in the Seine, Fu!" The turtle kwami's rage echoed under the bridge. The young boy, tucked in the shadowy corner, put a finger to the green turtle's mouth.

"Calm down, Wayzz, we're alive," he snipped. "If you shout any louder, all of Paris will hear you."

Wayzz dropped into the boy's palm dramatically and flopped on his back. "You are going to be the death of me."

"Too bad you are prolonging my life," Fu chuckled before shivering. "Unless I get a cold. I need to find a change of clothes."

"Well, I can only assume by your cheerfulness at almost _dying_ that she passed the test."

"With flying colors. She will be a perfect Ladybug, as I thought." Fu's eyes grew excited. He reached for the satchel and his hat, which he'd stashed away in the rocks before he'd jumped in the river.

Stowing the newsy cap on his head securely, he grinned. "How lucky that the boy led me to her. I knew he had good taste. The way she figured things out in record time. Did you see her eyes? Completely focused on saving me."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, we got Ladybug and Cat. Yay for us. Now the problem is giving them their powers." Wayzz sighed. "I'm guessing…?"

"Time to transform." The boy said with a nod.  
   
*************************

"Completely sold out!" Gaspard announced happily as he set the cart near the sidewall much later. "My éclairs were a hit!"

"That's my boy!" Marcus cheered, hurrying over with an apron covered in cake batter. Ruffling his son's blond locks, he laughed proudly at Gaspard's bashful smile. "I knew you had the family gift! You'll be an amazing baker just like your old man!"

"We're a team, Papa." - but his green eyes were shimmering with delight at the compliment. Reaching to the buckle at his waist, he slipped the pouch from his belt and handed it to Marcus. Feeling the heavy weight of money, Dupain shook his head in awe.

" _C'est fantastique!_ Business will be even bigger now that people have gotten a taste for our pastries! We might even need to hire more help. Did you know we had no less than seven people stop by to see if we were still open?"

"Really?" Removing his suspenders off his shoulders and letting them drape on his thighs, Gaspard grabbed his apron hanging from the door, wrapping it around his waist. He followed his father into the back room where a large three-layered cake was sitting in full beautiful tiers.

"And, as promised, pick a frosting and design, son," Dupain offered, his large hand gesturing to pre-made mixes. "It's for the Hambert wedding, so we gotta make it classy."

Stepping up with a touch of excitement, Gaspard's green eyes studied the various icing options his father had laid out for him and his gaze landed on a thin spigot. Picking it up, he scooped a touch of the icing from the bowl into the pouch, screwed the cap on, and turned to a wax paper spread on the table.

A touch of red lace shielding a flawless face with sharp blue sapphire eyes. His cheeks grew warm and an unknowing smile slipped on his mouth. Her posture, her confidence, her gentle teasing nature. The elegance of her...

"You in there, my boy?" Marcus quirked an eyebrow at his son's daydreaming expression and Gaspard blinked, her face washing away to the waiting wax paper.

"Y-yeah, Papa, sorry about that."

A small glint appeared in Dupain's eye. "You must be tired. You can begin the design and I'll take over once you've got your pattern."

With a start of protest, Marcus shook his head and Gaspard sighed. "I guess you're right. It has been a long day. A really good long day."

Bending over the paper, the red lace firmly in his mind, he traced out the design as best as he could remember. Connecting small points, slipping high with tight swirls, it was a good twenty minutes before he added the last flair to the design and stepped back with an exhale.

Marcus, watching his son the entire time, was nodding approvingly. The design was a woven lace, flowers branching into a heart in the center. It was beautiful. It was artistically tasteful and yet held a flair of elegance. Marcus' smile grew larger at the beam of pride for his son.

"It's lovely," he said, clapping Gaspard on the back once he'd finished. "Keep doing work like this and I'll have to step up my baker skills. You seem to be close to surpassing me every day."

"I'll never be as good as you," the young man denied, handing off the icing pouch to him. "You know so many things."

"It's all from experience. Once you get to be my age, you'll probably be the most renowned baker in all of Paris. Now get upstairs and head to bed. It's another early morning for us Dupains!"

"Yes, sir!" Gaspard saluted before racing out of the back bakery. Hearing the thundering footsteps hurrying up the stairs, Marcus chuckled and looked back to the lace design thoughtfully.

 _Wonder how he thought this up?_ Marcus tapped his finger against his chin curiously before letting go of the thought with a shrug.

Then another question cropped up.

 _How am I supposed to recreate it…?_  
   
*************************

Old Marjoline was thankfully silent as Solene emerged from the bath - tired, sad, and stressed. Wrapping her silk robe around her body, she sat at her vanity and stared at her reflection. Teeth chewing her bottom lip nervously, her blue eyes were wide like a hunted animal. Picking up her brush, she slipped it through her long, wet locks as the old maid finished fluffing the covers of her bed. Though it was only dusk, the combination of worry and shame had pressed so tightly on her shoulders since leaving the Exposition, she found herself exhausted.

Turned out, he father hadn't wanted to speak to her after all and had ordered her straight to bed as soon as he came home. Muttering about "damage control" as the door to his office closed, it took everything she had not to burst into tears.

"Marjoline…?" She called softly. Through the mirror, she saw the maid's thin shoulders stiffen and her fingers drop the pillow back on the bed. "I'm sorry I ruined the dress."

"It's not the dress, mon coeur," the maid sighed. "You... you know your father has trouble expressing himself."

"I embarrassed him today. I-I... shamed the family."

"His anger was not because of how you looked. He was worried for you."

"But I was safe. The boy was-"

"I know, Solene, but you went missing. It wasn't the ruined dress or the fact that you jumped to save that boy. He had thought you were at the party with your friends and, next thing he knew, Claudette was telling everyone you'd run off. You could have been kidnapped, killed, tortured. He probably had all that and more running through his mind while he tried to find you. And when he did, you were dripping wet with a ripped gown. Now, yes, in the humble opinions of a maid, I feel as if he overreacted, but as someone who has served this household for over three decades, I can very rightly justify his anger towards you. He was scared. And he's a proud man. Showing fear is something that has been ironed out of him."

Solene's face fell and she looked at her fingers in shame. Hearing Marjoline move from the bed to step closer to her chair, she refused to remove her gaze from her lap. She hadn't thought about how her behavior at leaving the party would affect her father. She had been only thinking of herself. She'd been thinking of the excitement outside her invisible line of high class society. Of being normal for once in her life.

How-how selfish she'd been…

"However, mon coeur, as your friend, I want to tell you how very proud I am of you."

Solene gasped and her eyes shot to her dearest Marjoline. She hadn't realized how much she needed to hear those words until a burn hit behind her eyes. She pushed the tears away, but her lips curled up as she saw, through the mirror, Marjoline's wizened face light up kindly.

"If you hadn't been there, that poor boy would have died. By the Grace of God, some providence, some angel guiding you, you were there to save him. It has always been my belief that the most honorable acts we as humans can do for our fellow man is to step up when someone needs to be saved. To be that supporting hand when someone is calling out for help. So, for your actions today, being that hand for that boy, I feel as if you are growing into a fine young woman."

Standing up from her chair, she crossed the floor to wrap her arms around the maid's shoulders for the second time that day. The sheer relief was practically overwhelming.

"Now, now, you need to get to sleep. You've got lessons in the morning."

"T-Thank you, Marjoline," Solene mumbled. "Thank you so much."

With a tight sigh, the maid's thin arms came around the girl gently.  
   
*************************

Gaspard shut the door to his room and leaned against it, his cheeks warm and a silly lopsided smile on his lips. The girl in red, her blue eyes piercing him even from his memories, made his stomach turn - but in a strangely amazing way. Though it had only been a brief meeting, he knew he'd always remember it. The day, the excitement, the crowd - the way his heart had leaped in his chest as she giggled into her hand or looked back at him as she left.

She was high society and that meant about as far from his reach as possible. Gaspard made no attempts to quell his feelings. It's not like he'd ever meet her again anyway. Granted, she had promise to stop by the bakery for her éclair, but a lady like her would send servants to fetch the pastry. Not go in person.

He wondered briefly what she was doing now. He could picture her: sitting like a princess in that red gown, her black hair still in its lovely twists, her lips opening to sigh softly at the memory of the dashing, young baker she'd met today...

With a snort at himself, he shook his head and crossed his small room to the bed. A sting hit his arm as he collapsed on the quilted coverlet and he rose up to roll his sleeve. Oh, right. The boy he'd saved from the galloping roan. He hoped the boy was home safe. Maybe he'd stop by the pastry shop and Gaspard could check up on him.

Glancing at the red whelp on his arm, which was already starting to heal, he thought of his day - this wonderfully insane day.

And his memories instantly fell back to the best part of it. That beautiful, elegant girl.

Sighing, he curled on the bed without taking off his shoes. Would he ever see her again? Would she even recognize him? What if they passed on the street and their eyes connected? Would she look his way? He grabbed the pillow from his head and hugged it in his arms.

His walls were covered with drawings and sketches, several were of the bakery's familiar customers: the old man down the street, the merry gentleman who loved Papa's baguettes, and Sara, the girl who sold wildflowers right outside the shop. However, most were of his mother from years ago before she'd died from the fever.

When paper and pencil were more readily available next month, he'd purchase a stack again.

He'd found a new muse for his drawings…


	3. Origins Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter. :3

Solene hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until she suddenly woke in the dark with Treasure Island sprawled on her face. Tired as she had been, she hadn’t been able to shut off her brain. Diving back into the land of pirates, she'd settled in her bed after Marjoline left her and had just picked up with the launch of the stockade attack when she must have fallen asleep.

Now, wide awake, she sighed at the burnt-out candle on her bedside table.

Sitting up from the warm covers, she slipped her legs out of the bed and shivered in her nightdress. Heading to her vanity and flipping her long braid over her shoulder, she opened the drawer where she'd stashed away candles just in case insomnia hit. Solene lit one with a match and was about to head back to her book when something caught her eye.

A small reddish-brown octagonal box was resting on her vanity. Scanning her memory, she frowned. It hadn't been there when she was speaking to Marjoline earlier…

Holding the candle closer, she studied the intricate red design on the top of it. Symbols she'd only seen in Musée du Louvre were carved around the edges. Hurrying to her bedside, she grabbed the candlestick, stuck the candle in it, and ran back to the vanity to plop on the cushion. Setting the candlestick down, she plucked up the box curiously.

*********************

Gaspard woke with a gasp as something slammed on the floor of his bedroom. Eyes blinking blearily in the darkness, he sat up and yawned. Reaching into his nightstand, his fingers fumbled for his matches and he lit the short candle sitting near his bed. Half asleep, he was surprised to see his shoes still on his feet and his apron wrapped awkwardly around his torso. He scratched his blond hair before standing up to untie the strings of the apron and kick off his shoes,

He moved to his chest of drawers for his pajamas and stopped short, suddenly fully awake. Turning his head, his green eyes slipped to the floorboards. Gaspard took cautious steps towards a mysterious, small box resting on the floor. He swallowed thickly in his throat, crouched down, and picked up the box. Carrying it back to his bed, he studied the beautiful, foreign design on the top.

He held it close to the candlelight, squinting at the small line going around it. A seam...

"It's like a small jewelry box or something," he whispered to himself.

Digging his fingernails into the crease, he opened the lid.

*********************

The light had overwhelmed her eyes and she was still blinking at the winking spots. And then, her vision cleared on a small, red… thing.

Solene stared at it. The red thing stared at her.

Only several inches tall, red with black spots on its forehead and cheeks, the thing's tiny antennae twitched, reminding Solene of a giant ladybug. It floated in the air with a lovely smile.

The raven-haired girl couldn't get her brain to process what she was seeing.

"You… you…" The words stumbled, trying to find purchase on her tongue.

"Hello, Solene! My name is Tikki!" The red thing greeted in a sweet voice, zipping a little closer. “I'm a kwami!"

Finally, Solene's voice found its way out of her throat.

"You are so cute!"

*********************

Gaspard was across the room against the window, crossing his heart as he prayed.

"I keep telling you I'm not a demon!" The black creature cried with an irritated droll to his voice. His raven ears twitching with annoyance, he scowled. "I'm a kwami!"

"-as I walk through the valley of the shadow of-"

" _Listen_!" The black cat growled, zooming to Gaspard's shocked face and knocking the prayer off his lips. "I'm not going to hurt you! You're my Chosen!"

"C-Chosen?"

*********************

"You are Chosen to save the world!" Tikki beamed as Solene leaned forward in rapid attention. Sitting on her vanity, the little kwami's back straightened importantly. "There will be a danger unleashed on this city soon and it's up to you to save it."

A brush of excitement rushed through Solene. "You mean… I'll be like a hero? Will I have a disguise? A weapon?"

Her large eyes glowing with delight in the candlelight, the red kwami nodded happily. "Yes, you will! I'll tell you everything you need to know. Just leave it to me!"

"You are adorable, Tikki!" Solene cooed, lifting a finger to tap the little kwami on the head. Tikki giggled and Solene could have sworn she blushed through all that red.

"This is probably the nicest reception I've ever had!" The little creature smiled.

"What do you mean?"

Tikki pressed her mouth together and a sparkle of mirth was on her face. "Oh, some humans have a hard time when they first meet me. You've taken this very well though."

"Are you kidding? I feel like… like… I've been waiting for something like this. Granted, I could never have guessed that this would happen to me, but I've always known that I was made for more than just social gatherings and parties. Now I'm going to be a vigilante! Go on adventures! Like a pirate or a musketeer!"

"That’s right!" Tikki chirped, levitating in the air and slipping around Solene's head. "And you won't be the only one. Someone else has been given this gift as well. Together, you will save Paris!"

Solene's eyes widened. "There are others like you?"

"Of course!" Tikki squeaked charmingly. "Quite a few of us. And each of us is one of a kind. I am the Miraculous of Creation."

"Miraculous of Creation…" Solene repeated with a touch of awe on her face. "When will I meet this other person?"

"Soon." The smile slipped from the kwami's lips as her large eyes glanced out the window distractedly.

"It will be very soon."

*********************

"Are you _sure_ you're not a demon?"

Gaspard held his pillow in his arms and was on the far end of the bed. Periodically pinching his arm, the tiny black cat remained on his bedpost. He had to face the fact he wasn't dreaming. The small black whiskers, the brilliant lazy green eyes, the tiny pointed ears…

He wasn't dreaming…

A small, talking, floating cat had come out of a box with a ring in it.

_How was he not dreaming?_

The cat, little legs swinging as it perched, shook his head and sighed. "No. For the last time, I am not a demon. I'm a kwami. My name's Plagg. You could say I'm a small god that grants powers."

"Grant powers? Do you bless like the saints do? Or are you a furry angel?"

"Religion, if that’s what you’re talking about, is a different concept from me," Plagg drawled. "We grant powers to those Chosen to protect and save the world from serious threats. You've been one of those Chosen."

"Me? Why me?"

"I don't know. You don't seem to be taking this too well."

Gaspard fell silent at that comment and a drop of guilt swam in his stomach. "Look, I'm sorry I called you a demon. I was just surprised."

The cat gave him a pointed glance before cracking a thin smile.

"Bah, I've had worse in the past. For now, I need to go over your powers."

*********************

"Lucky Charm?" Solene asked, looking at the ruby studded earrings in the box.

"It's your strongest power. It gives you an object that will give you an advantage in a fight. But by activating it, the power will force you to change back after certain amount of time. Once the object has been used, you can fix the damage with the spell cry ‘ _Miraculous Ladybug_ ’. This will cleanse whatever magical wrongdoing that has befallen. One thing I must make perfectly clear is that your identity must remain a secret. No one must know who you are. That means you have a limited amount of time to figure out what to do with your Lucky Charm."

"Why must I keep my identity a secret?"

"There is a reason I have been handed to a Chosen. There is evil out there and I’m not sure what it is yet," Tikki said with a serious look in her large eyes. "If they figure out who you are, they could take advantage of that. Miraculous are powerful and very coveted. Though it is rare we are used for ill intent, it has happened before. Whomever is threatening the city will come after everything you love if they know who you truly are. So, you must hide your identity, even from the other Miraculous wielder. It keeps you safe."

"The other Miraculous wielder - my partner I will meet soon," Solene clarified.

"Yes." The kwami nodded. "I can feel he's awake, too."

"'He'?"

"The other kwami," she said without explaining further.

*********************

"Cataclysm?" Gaspard frowned in confusion, glancing at his hand where the silver ring sat. "I can destroy whatever I touch?"

"Yeah, but you gotta be careful about it because once you activate your power you'll change back after a bit. The ring will warn you before that happens," Plagg said, floating to the pillow on his bed. "Also, you must never tell anyone who you truly are. Your identity must be a secret from everyone."

"Even my dad?"

" _Everyone_ ," the kwami emphasized. "It's just safer for you and those you love. Trust me, I've had a lot of experience with this."

"You've given other people these powers?" Gaspard asked in surprise.

"Throughout time, we kwami have had chosen champions to help save the world. It's been a number of years since we were active, but yes, there have been others like you. As I said before, first impressions aren't my favorite part in this. I’m not a fan of most of it. The 'demon' comment was new though."

"But… why me?"

Plagg sighed and stretched out like a tiny cat. He rolled his luminescent eyes at the question. "I don't know. All I know is you've been Chosen, so you gotta save the world, kid. This is how it works."

Save the world… An evil stirring… Danger was coming for Paris… Something akin to fear slipped tightly into the blond's stomach and sat uncomfortably. His father brushed into his mind and the feeling soured. He’d never had a secret from his father before. He'd never had any need to. But with this, he'd have to keep a part of his life from the only family member he had left. For the greater good. For his own protection.

"And… if I don't want to have this power? If I can't handle it?"

Plagg yawned. "Renounce me and take off the ring. I'd test the powers out before you do. Just… give it a shot, okay. You were obviously given this for a reason. Keep that in mind while you try to sort out your feelings or whatever." The cat kwami suddenly sat up. "Oh, I almost forgot! Cheese!"

"Cheese?" Gaspard quirked an eyebrow.

"I _love_ cheese! It's the fastest way to recharge my powers once you transform back. Try to keep some on you always."

"Seriously? Cheese? What kind?”

“I’ve grown quite fond of all sorts, but there’s this one that I had a while back that was soft and creamy…” The tiny creature seemed to drool just thinking about it. “One of my past welders was a skilled _affineur_ … it’s a shame I can’t remember the name of it.”

“We use brie for our cheese Danishes, but we sell those closer to the autumn months. I don’t think we have any in stock now. How am I supposed to get it?"

"That’s your problem. I'm just letting you know if you are ever in a bind and you've got to transform after using Cataclysm, give me some cheese.” His tiny face frowned in thought. “I really wish I could remember what that one was…

Despite the apprehension turning his stomach, Gaspard couldn't fight the smile as the cat settled down once more for the night, curled into a tiny black ball of fur.

Cheese, powers, evil, and secrets.

What had he done to deserve this?

*********************

"Can I transform now!?" Solene asked excitedly, finishing the last earring in her ear and brushing her braid behind her shoulder so she could admire the dark studs in her lobes.

"Probably not wise to do it tonight - also, I should mention after you transform back, it will take me awhile to recharge my powers for you to transform again. But there's a certain food I like that will make me recharge faster."

"What's that?"

Tikki thought for a moment. "Since I'm in France, I guess you call them biscuits… or cookies."

"Cookies? You have to have cookies?" Solene let out a giggle. "I would have thought something like aphids since you're a ladybug."

"I'm not a ladybug! I'm a kwami! You can eat all the bugs you want!" Tikki grinned. "But for now, it's probably time to get you back to sleep. You will transform soon enough, I’m sure."

"I wish I could tonight…" Solene sighed, begrudgingly picking up the candlestick to head back to bed. Setting the candle on the bedside table, she turned to the red kwami floating over her bedspread. "I can't think of what I did to deserve this. I mean… why me? I'm not anything special."

Tikki smiled. "On the contrary, didn't you save a young boy's life today?"

Solene blinked in surprise, the image of the boy coming forward. "Y-yes, but how do you-"

"You are perfect then!” Tikki cut in with a chirp. “You have an instinct to save others! I know in my heart you will be a wonderful Coccinelle!"

"La Coccinelle…" Solene said dreamily. "That's a good vigilante name. 'Watch out, bad guys! Here comes the flying Coccinelle!' I still can't believe this is really happening..." She dropped on the bed and looked at the lovely red creature as it settled on the pillow next to her. "This is real…"

"Yes, but you need to get to sleep," Tikki commanded gently. "There will be more to learn tomorrow. So much more!"

She yawned, lifted the covers, and leaned to blow out the candle. Just before she did so, she turned to Tikki with something hard suddenly clenching her heart.

"What is it, Solene?" The kwami asked, seeing her expression.

"Tikki… could you promise me you'll be here? Just promise me that this will all be here when I wake up? If… if this turned out to be a dream..."

A flicker of red and the tiny creature was nuzzling her cheek affectionately.

"I think I'm going to really like you, Solene. And I promise I'll be here."

Lips curing and the hardness unraveling into pure happiness, she closed her eyes and sighed.

"I think I'm going to really like you, too."

*********************

The bed chamber was lightened with candles.

A man, unstrapping his navy lapel, let the tiny pin at his throat twinkle in the glowing candlelight. Nooroo appeared, his tiny purple head peeking out from the man’s buttoned doublet. Having traveled many miles down the long countryside of France, the kwami had been filled with awe when they’d finally entered the bustling city of Paris.

Nooroo had never seen such a jumbling mass of people before.

“You are positive the book is here?” his master asked quietly.

“I cannot say for certain,” Nooroo answered with a timid tremor to his voice, “but I know many guardians traveled to this city to choose Miraculous wielders to test. There is a sanctuary built here and an ancient power. I’m sure this is where the last guardian would be hiding.”

“Then we will have to look for it.”

“But master, the city-”

“-Is full of people just waiting to help me get what I want.”

“Even if you find the book, you won’t be able to read it. The knowledge is forbidden for kwami. I cannot help you.”

“Then I will find the last guardian and he will translate it. Then, all the vast knowledge of your Miraculous will be mine, Nooroo. I will create an army under my sole command.”

Nooroo fell silent as the man laughed lowly.  

"Now to find my first prey..."

*********************

It was before dawn when Gaspard awoke. His body was used to waking early - a baker's natural clock. His father was already awake judging by the smell of baking bread wafting up.

He threw the covers back and heard an unexpected, "Ahh!"

Jumping at the small cry, Gaspard froze. Glancing over at the coverlet, he saw a tiny, black head with a large frown appear from under the thin quilt.

"What was that for!?"

"You're still here!" he said stupidly, watching the black cat roll his green eyes with irritation before coming to float in front of his face.

"Of course, I'm still here. I thought we established this last night. My question is why are we up before dawn?!"

"I must help run the bakery. Papa has a cake to deliver and I need to take care of the shop until he gets back."

"What about my cheese?" the kwami moaned. "You need to figure out a way to get it for me."

"There's a _fromagerie_ several blocks down around the back," Gaspard said thoughtfully before he frowned. "Now I think about it, my problem won't be finding the cheese, but buying it. All the money we make goes to running the bakery. I don't have any to spend on other things."

"Ask for a wage or something!"

Gaspard scowled. "I couldn't do that to Papa!"

"You have to get the money somehow! Say that you need it to buy a gift to impress a girl!"

"Impress a- wait, what?" Gaspard stumbled with the notion. "He'll see right through that! I've never… shown interest… in a…"

He couldn't finish the statement as the vision of black shining hair, crystal blue eyes, and a flowing crimson dress tossed over his mind. Okay, so he had, but she didn't count. He didn't even know her name! He knew he'd never see her again anyway! So, technically, he hadn't shown interest in anyone.

Even though he had…

Ugh, whatever, she just didn't count!

"Just make it up! Tell your father you're considering wooing a dame or whatever else men do these days. It's important to get me cheese!"

"I know, I know, I get it!" Gaspard said exasperated. "I'll see what I can do."

Standing up, he realized he never changed into his pajamas and sighed. Straightening his suspenders back on his shoulders, he brushed out his wrinkled pants and tucked his loose shirt back into his waistline. Spying his apron on the floor, he walked over to pick it up.

"I guess I'll just hang up here starving…" Plagg sighed dramatically, flopping on the messy bed.

"I told you I'll figure out how to get you cheese, okay?"

"I already told you how to get it! Tell your father that-"

"I can't tell my father a lie. I refuse, Plagg."

Gaspard tied the apron on and ran his fingers through his messy hair.

What had he gotten himself into?

*********************

"You want to come with me to lessons?" Solene asked Tikki as she unbraided her hair. "I have to keep you with me incase I have to transform, right? Oh, I can't wait to transform! What kind of disguise will I have? Can I change the outfit to whatever I want?"

Tikki giggled from Solene's shoulder. "It's magic. It'll conform to whatever it thinks is best for you."

"I hope I get a sword! Something swashbuckling!"

"Swash...?" The little kwami looked confused before her large eyes grew wider. "Oh, dear, someone's coming! I'll hide in the drawer!"

"Wait! It isn't-" Tikki slipped into the drawer, phasing through the wood and handle, "-open…"

The raven-haired girl stared where her kwami had disappeared before she shook her head in awe.

"Solene! Are you up?" The older voice pricked from the doorway and she heard the hard rapping of knuckles.

"Yes, Marjoline, I'm up," she called, picking up her brush to comb her hair. "I've got to get dressed. I'll be down for breakfast in a bit-"

"Actually, you've got a guest waiting for you downstairs!"

"What?" Solene hurried off the cushion to open the door. Marjoline's brown eyes were shining as the morning window light hit the old maid's face. Solene had seen this expression before.

"Oh, no..." She groaned and her excitement she'd felt before instantly deflated.

"Albert Pernell is waiting for you in the front parlor. He arrived early this morning." Marjoline burst into the room and grabbed Solene's arm in passing. "He'll be expecting you. We've got to get you in that light blue! Hurry, hurry, hurry!"

"Why is Albert here?" Solene yelped as her maid rushed her back to her vanity. “I thought he was out of the country on holiday! The far east or something! _Very_ far away from here! And I have lessons, remember?"

"Your English can wait. He must have arrived back a few days ago. Now is your chance!"

"Chance!?" The raven beauty watched in horror as the maid laid out the blue gown and spread the undergarments over the bed. "No, no, no! Marjoline, don't start with this again! He's thirty years older than me! He stares at me! He's creepy!"

"And rich! And would be able to give you a life even better than what you have here! And he obviously cares for you to be coming all this way this early in the morning."

"One would call it a rudeness to arrive so early without invitation…" Solene scowled. The elder maid shot her an exasperated look, motioning her over so she could dress her. "I mean, does he have nothing better to do than come here?"

"Apparently not, so that means you don't have anything better to do either. You'll take breakfast together with your father in the dining hall. You better be on your best behavior. You keep that short temper in check, young lady. Show gratitude for him coming all this way to call on you."

The undergarments buckled and the pins snapped. The corset tightened. The blue gown tossed over her head. She groaned as her hair - once a messy, lumpy tangle - was suddenly smoothed and braided beautifully over her shoulder. A tiny flower barrette was tucked into her raven locks. She saw Marjoline frown at the budded earrings, but she never mentioned them. Instead, she grabbed a silver necklace with a light blue teardrop stone and strapped it around her neck.

The entire process took less than ten minutes. Truly, Marjoline was a master at perfection when motivated.

"You'll make a lovely impression after all this time. He'll think you’re an angel! Now get down there!" Marjoline held the door for Solene, but the girl's blue eyes danced hesitantly to the vanity drawer.

"What are you waiting for?"

She sighed in surrender and swished out the bedroom with her corset stomach souring.

Sorry, Tikki…

*********************

"Ah, there you are, mon fils!" His father's boisterous voice greeted as Gaspard appeared in the back room. "I've just finished filling the éclairs. Mind taking over?"

"Sure, Papa," he said, his voice flatter than normal.

Dark eyes narrowing worriedly, he watched as his son walked over to the pastries, his steps a little less cheerful. He was in the same clothes as yesterday. His blond hair was a mess and his usual sharp green eyes were dulled. Turning to busy himself with stocking the freshly baked baguettes, Marcus went to the front of the store.

What could have possibly have changed his son's demeanor so drastically from the night before? He had seemed perfectly fine - happier than usual - when he'd gotten back from the Expo. The lace design he'd drawn for the cake was a beautiful piece of artwork. The bakery had made a ton of money from his éclairs. Everything seemed to be going just fine.

Gaspard entered from the back with the tray of new éclairs. Setting them on the counter to open the display case, his son's green eyes were locked with deep thoughts. The baker felt a twinge of sadness. The last time that look was in Gaspard's eyes was the funeral. Something must have happened to him. Bad dream?

"Is everything alright, my boy?" Marcus asked, turning his back to his son and focusing on straightening the baguettes. He could feel the tension like an invisible wall.

Gaspard cleared his throat. "Yes, Papa. I didn't sleep well last night."

"There is time to go splash some water on your face if you need to wake up a little more."

"It's alright."

Watching his son's slumped shoulders, a strange thought came over Marcus. A flicker of a memory crossed over: _a blonde beauty sitting beside him at the school house. A sour feeling swirling inside his stomach. Happiness and melancholy flashing back and forth in his moods at just the thought of her…_

Could it be?

"Gaspard," Marcus started, turning to his son and those shaded green eyes slipped to his curiously.

How to word this right...

"Are you… have you…?" Oh, why was it so difficult to talk about something like this? Never had Marcus needed Eliza more than this moment. She was always so much better at speaking than he was. Especially when it came to feelings.

"Have you met... someone?" he finally asked, trying to keep the cringe out of his voice.

His son's eyes grew as wide as bagels and his mouth fell open. "What?"

"You seem… out of sorts this morning - and I don't think it's because you're tired." Marcus swallowed in his tightening throat. "I… I acted the same way when I was around your age. It started when I first met your mother. I was so happy when I was around her and-and when she left the room, I felt sad. You were very happy yesterday evening and this morning…"

Gaspard's jaw had yet to close. He stood there gaping until a knock on the door surprised both Dupains. It was Sara, the flower girl that sold wildflowers outside their bakery. Marcus watched Gaspard's eyes flick to the girl outside the window and his mouth closed with an audible snap. She'd been a longtime friend of their family for a quite a number of years. She'd recently grown into her sharp red hair and large brown eyes. She was a beauty with a sweet countenance. Dupain's gaze switched from his son to Sara.

Could it be...?

Gaspard slipped around the corner to unlock the door. He opened it and Sara smiled up at him.

"We aren't open yet, Sara," he said softly.

"Oh-Oh, I know!" she stammered with a cute blush. "I-I just thought… you'd like a flower t-to decorate your bakery."

"Ah, I see." The young man's lips curled up for the first time that morning. "That's kind of you. Papa?"

"I'll get the money for you, Sara," Dupain announced with a wave.

"No, no, please! I wanted to give it to you!" she rushed, digging in the large woven basket in her arms for a large red chrysanthemum. Holding the flower to Gaspard, her blush grew. "Like a present."

"That's very thoughtful, Sara, but we insist on paying for it." Gaspard took the flower and turned to Marcus.

However, something stopped Marcus from getting the money. Something in the way Sara's doe eyes flicked up and down Gaspard’s turned back. Something in the way her toe scrapped the doorstep shyly and her hands fiddled with the handle of her basket. There were many girls who held torches for his son - the young women who flocked the bakery every day proved that point. But there wasn't many who knew him personally. Who were friends with him. Sara was different. She was almost family.

What if she could be… more for Gaspard?

"You know what, Sara. We appreciate the flower. Merci." Marcus nodded. "We'll pay you next time."

Her expression grew from shy to elated happiness within an instant. Gaspard, however, quirked an eyebrow.

"Are you sure, Papa?"

"She wanted to give you a present this morning, son. I think it is very generous of her."

Glancing down at the flower in his hand, the chrysanthemum's petals draping beautifully, the young man sighed and turned back to Sara with a smile. "Well, then, thank you, Sara. We'll make sure to put this on our display case this morning. It will lighten up the pastries."

"Oh, yes, the display case! It-It would be perfect there," she replied with a flash of disappointment crossing her features. "Good luck with the bakery today, Gaspard."

"Good luck to you as well," he returned with a shadow of his smile back on his face. Shutting the door, he held the flower for a moment and Dupain could have sworn his son's pupils dilated slightly at the sight of it. With a sharp exhale, he hurried to the backroom to fill a cup of water for the flower.

Coming into the front and setting the flower on the delicacies case, he cleared his throat and Marcus looked to his son curiously. His pale cheeks were tinged pink and his face was spilling with nerves.

"I… I have a favor to ask, father…"

Eyebrows raising at the formal 'father', Dupain leaned on the counter and nodded.

"I was… was wondering if I could… borrow some of the money I made from the éclairs. Not a lot!" He added quickly. "Just a small bit. And if I could stop somewhere before you leave to drop off the cake."

Not even bothering to hide the grin from his face, Marcus marched to the side and reached for the key at his belt to unlock the money drawer. Fishing out several coins, Gaspard gasped when he saw the amount.

"No, that's too much-"

"Au contraire, I feel as if this isn't enough, my son." Dupain smiled, handing him the money. "I wish I could give you more. I would not be able to run this place without you. If you ever need anything, please just let me know. We are a team. And as team members, we have to support each other."

Stepping up and placing a hand on Gaspard's shoulder, he smile grew proud.

"Good luck, son. She's grown into such a cute girl."

The utterly lost look on Gaspard's face almost made Dupain laugh.

 _The poor boy doesn't even realize his own feelings_ , he mused with an inward chuckle. _I better help him out._

"Get her something nice." He nodded without waiting for a reply. "Maybe from a Bijouterie."

"A jewelry store…?" His son whispered under his breath, glancing at the money in his hand. The subject dropped on that awkward note and both males gratefully went back to their morning routine - Gaspard a little more flustered and confused at the turn of events.

They missed the red-haired figure peeking through the window, her brown eyes wide with excitement.

*********************

The fine china had been set, the curtains rolled back to let the morning sun in from the tall windows, and the summer table-liner was spread with all kinds of lovely breakfast foods. Picking at her fluffy eggs and ham, Solene stared at her fork determinedly as Albert's grey eyes continued to slip to her face from across the table.  The conversation stifled and the atmosphere was so tense it was hard to breathe.

Her father, sitting at the head of the table, gave a small huff and motioned to Albert.

"How are the vineyards doing with this weather? It has been unusually warm as of late."

Albert, his eyes still not leaving Solene, picked up his water glass and took a quick sip before answering, "We are expecting the warm weather to help with the fermentation of last year's crop. With this kind of heat… things should be _ripe_ well before schedule…"

Solene wondered if she was reading too much into that comment or if that was an innuendo directed to her - and realized, regardless if it was or wasn't, it still made chill bumps of disgust rise on her arms. Appetite completely lost, she set her silverware on the plate. She could feel both men staring at her now - each with completely different aura.

Unwanted lust verses terrifying disapproval.

Which eye to look at?

Her father's eyebrows were crunched on his forehead. His brown hair immaculately groomed, his pale lips painted with a cordial smile, he gave her a snipping look - glancing at Albert, herself, and back to Albert with non-verbal language so clear, she'd have to be blind to not understand it.

Speak to him. NOW.

"Thank you for coming to visit, Monsieur Pernell," she said with no emotion.

"If I had known you'd grown into such a vision, Mademoiselle Montilyet, I would have come home much sooner," Albert said, spearing a tomato with his fork and slipping it into his lips. Chewing, he continued, "I am planning a gala at my estate next month to showcase what I've discovered in my travels. I am hoping you will join me as my honored guest. All manner of high society will be present."

"Of course, Albert. She would be delighted," her father answered for her. "And speaking of showcasing, have you happened a chance to see our new Eiffel Tower?"

"I have not had that luxury, unfortunately. We came in from ship to the west. However, if I would be highly motivated if I could escort your lovely daughter-"

"I've already seen it!" Solene said quickly and the condemnation from her father swam thick and hard through the room. With a blush and heat rising up her neck, she turned to Albert bravely. "We visited it yesterday for the beginning of the _Exposition Universelle_. It was very exciting and-"

"Yes, yes, that is quite enough, Solene," her father interrupted sharply. "Please don't take her comments to heart, Monsieur Pernell. If you wish to see the Tower with her - she would be happy to go with you."

"I look forward to it." Albert nodded kindly, but the glint in his eyes made them look almost silver.

She forced the shudder away and stared at her eggs. Wishing she could just crawl out of the room and go back upstairs to Tikki, she spied the sweet muffins and remembered something. Lifting a finger, a maid came close and she motioned to whisper in her ear.

"Can you get me some cookies wrapped in a napkin and leave them on my vanity? I might be hungry later."

The maid blinked and nodded before heading out of the dining hall.

There was a lull in the conversation - scratch that - more like a gaping chasm of silence before Albert turned to her father, his long fingers unlacing from where they’d rested on the table near his plate.

“There _is_ a matter I wish to discuss with you. If you would be so kind as to-”

A manservant opened the door and immediately bowed. “I apologize for disturbing you. There is a telephone call for Monsieur Pernell.”

“Ah, I see you have upgraded to the new technology as well, Montilyet,” Albert commented with an impressed quirk of his lip. “Please, excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

Albert left the dining hall - shooting Solene a look akin to hunger over his shoulder. Her back hit the chair with an overwhelming schlump of relief and another wash of disgust shivered down her spine. It was a sad day when she wished to be upstairs with her studies. She’d be bored out of her mind with histories, but at least she wouldn’t be picked apart by lustful eyes and disapproving glares.

Picking up her fork to push around more breakfast, she heard her father give a low sigh.

“It is a honor he came to see us this morning, Solene. We are the first he has called upon since his return from the exotics. We should take this visit as a testimony of his regard for you.”

She couldn’t stop the curl of revulsion on her lips.

“Why must he call on _me_? Claudette would have been _overjoyed_ to receive him.”

“Straighten up and stop this at once,” her father growled lowly under his breath. “You will go to the Eiffel Tower if he wishes it. You will hold his arm if he wishes it. You will attend the gala and you will smile, laugh, and charm because _I_ wish it - do you understand?”

“Your _doll_ is at your command,” she murmured darkly at her plate.

If he heard her, he refused to acknowledge the comment - instead, choosing to take a sip of his tea.

It was a few tense minutes before the door hurriedly opened. Both Solene and her father jumped as Albert stormed into the room.

“I apologize for the brisk departure, but I have urgent business to attend-”

“Is everything alright, Albert?” Her father leaped from his chair with the concern of a proper host.

Meanwhile, Solene’s heart soared with relief.

“There is a matter that needs my attention at once. I will part for today. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Solene, remembering her manners and washed in elated joy, stood from her chair and gave Albert a swift curtsy followed by a dazzling smile.

“I hope you are safe going home, Monsieur Pernell.”

He stopped mid-step - turning to her with a flicker of hot want in his eyes as they raked up and down her blue gown.

“I will be counting down the minutes until next we meet, Mademoiselle. I promise I will return again soon.”  

With that pledge on the horizon of Solene’s future, he bowed low at the waist and departed.

*********************

The black kwami had laughed for a solid ten minutes when Gaspard had come back up to his room to show him the money and tell him how he got it.

"See? You didn't necessarily lie. Your father came to the wrong conclusion on his own!" The kwami had let out another chortle. "I can't believe it. This is too hilarious!"

"Yeah, glad you're having a good time with it," Gaspard had sighed, bracing his chin bitterly on his palm. Sitting on the unkempt bed next to Plagg, he had told the cat that he was planning on going to the fromagerie at around noon - once the morning rush had ended. Plagg had seemed to be unable to contain himself with glee at the prospect of all that cheese, so, nestled in the side pocket of Gaspard's apron, the little kwami was along for the ride.

Noon on the dot, his father waved him out the back door and Gaspard took the alley before turning to the left for the three-block walk to the fromagerie.

"Cheese, cheese, gooey-oozy cheese…" A voice was chanting in his apron.

"Hush, Plagg. You can't talk if you are coming with me," he hissed at his pocket before nodding nervously at a passing couple who was glancing at him curiously. "You're making me look weird. I won't bring you next time if you can't behave yourself."

"Gaspard!"

He glanced over his shoulder at the call and a brilliant redhead was racing up to him.

"Sara," he greeted kindly. "What brings you here?"

"I… I had another flower… if you wanted one… just for yourself…" She was blushing, hesitant, and her hands were shaking so hard her basket quaked. "I wanted you to… to have one… not just for the bakery… but because… I gave it to you…"

He blinked, confused. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand what you're saying. You've already given me a flower. Do you want me to buy one this time?"

"No!" She cried out and blushed harder. "I wanted you to have one because… I-uh… I-"

"I am so sorry to interrupt, Sara, but I've really got to go," Gaspard said at Plagg's sharp kick on his thigh. "Can we talk later? I've got to get my shopping done and get back to the bakery before Papa leaves to drop off the cake for the Hambert's wedding this evening."

"O-Oh, right…" Her eyes fell from his face to the cobblestone at her feet. "I… I will leave you to it then."

" _Au revoir_ , Sara!" Turning on foot, he hurried down the street, his green eyes slipping from shop to shop. The cheese store was a white-washed front with tiny buttresses lining the top of the small roof. Gaspard had always thought the shop was quite tacky with its fancy getup. Stepping into the store, he was confronted by cheeses of all shapes and sizes. Turning to a rack in the corner, he scooped Plagg out of his apron and tucked him into the collar of his shirt.

“Which one?” He hissed - green eyes slipping from exotic muensters to green-streaked roquefort.

“Not over here…” the kwami frowned.

The store owner, glancing at his stained baker's apron and messy hair, clicked his tongue prudishly, but allowed Gaspard to roam freely from shelf to shelf - Plagg whispering in his ear.

It was a full ten minutes before Plagg let out a loud gasp - and Gaspard quickly covered with a cough. The black kwami trembled so happily against his neck, Gaspard almost smiled.

He was cute when he got excited.

“That one! That round one to the left! What is it?!”

Picking up a wheel of white cheese, the blond held it up. “Camembert?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Plagg squeaked. “Yes, yes! That’s it! You have to buy that one!”

“Excuse me, Monsieur,” Gaspard called, holding up the wheel. “How much?”

*********************

Her heart was crushing against her ribs. Sinking to her knees in the small alleyway, she dropped the basket of flowers as the hot tears slipped down her cheeks. Sara pictured his face, his hair, his eyes, his smile - and anger swirled with her heartbreak. She had been his friend for so long. She'd always loved him.

Was it that he really didn't love her? That he didn't care about her at all?

Picking up a red chrysanthemum that was like the one she'd given him that morning, she plucked a petal from it.

"He loves me…"

"He loves me not…"

"He loves me…"

"He loves me not…"

*********************

Stepping out of the shop, Gaspard almost shouted as Plagg's head popped out of his collar.

"Get back in there! I said you can eat it when we get home!"

"But I want it _now…_ " the kwami whined.

Rolling his eyes to the blue heavens, Gaspard hurriedly scooped the kwami out of his shirt and plopped him back into his apron. Opening the bag, he unwrapped one the numerous camembert wheels now in his possession, and broke the gooey cheese apart with his fingers.

Groaning, he stuck it in his pocket and whispered, "This stuff smells awful! Don’t let it get on my apron."

"I'll make sure to lick it off if it does," Plagg sighed with his mouth already full. “This is _heaven!_ ”

Wrapping the wheel back up in the package, he started back down the street to the bakery.

*********************

He was powerful.

He was magical.

And the taste of a young woman's bitterness was like a precious cream brule on his tongue. He felt it, the sadness, the anger, the tight wish for revenge…

Now was the time to fish the guardian out of hiding.

Then the book would be his...

Grasping a white butterfly in the air, he enclosed it in his hands and impressed his will into the akuma.

"Draw out the guardian by any means necessary, akuma…" he whispered, letting the butterfly go and watching it slip out the top window.

*********************

"He loves me…"

"He loves me not…"

"He loves me…"

"He loves me… not…" The chrysanthemum was empty, its petals scattered all around her. No more petals. No more chances.

Holding the empty stem of the flower to her broken heart, she sank to her knees in the alleyway and wept.

The butterfly, a sickly black and purplish hue covering it, fluttered to her and landed on the stem.

"Flower Petal," a voice filtered in her head. Her brown eyes wide, her anger growing, she listened. "I am Violet Empereur. Your flower has been rejected by the one you love. If you cannot have your true love, why should anyone? They should all be flowers to be picked. They should all be flowers given to you."

"I… I…" The stem had grown, bloomed once more with large beautiful crimson petals. "I will have a bouquet worthy of a queen." She replied, with a grin growing on her lips.

Her red hair grew, falling to her waist beautifully. Her skin, always freckled and pale, darkened to a lovely forest green. Her old dress folded on her slim frame like the petals of a red rose. She was beautiful. She was strong.

And she was angry.

"Someone may come to stop you. I want you to do everything in your power capture them and bring them to me."

"Not to worry, Violet Empereur. I will present you with a beautiful bouquet of anyone who tries to stop me."

*********************

Tikki gasped, sitting up from the vanity as the door suddenly opened. Slipping into the drawer quickly, she watched from the keyhole as a maid walked in and set something wrapped in a napkin near the mirror. The maid left and Tikki sighed in relief before leaving her hiding spot. It smelled delicious, she decided to peek at the napkin and was delighted to find cookies!

Her heart warmed and her stomach grew as she devoured three of them. Reaching for a fourth, a tingling fear slipped into the little kwami. Her head flicking immediately to the window, she frowned with a hitch of understanding washing over her.

Nooroo…

He was awake.

He was being used.

There was an underlying sense of malice, of anger, from his magic - a twisted darkness she’d never felt before.

It was rare that a Miraculous was used with ill intent - especially since those that qualified to wield one usually had to meet the physical, psychological, and spiritual demands of the temple Guardians. Nooroo, his power more a support than a frontline, had never held such a bitter taste.

That could only mean the impossible had happened.

He had been stolen! That was why she had been given a Chosen!

She needed Solene!

Materializing through the glass, she quickly slipped from window to window, looking for her chosen. Rushing past the busy kitchen, the empty dining hall, and several bedrooms, she finally spotted her in a small seating area with a book of histories in her lap. She was blinking boredly, her eyes staring off in the distance. As Tikki zipped around the window to get her attention, Solene’s head snapped up and her blue eyes widened. Tikki raced back to the bedroom hoping that was enough to get her chosen up here.

A few tense minutes later, Solene was flying through the bedroom door in a flurry of blue skirts and slamming it shut. Twisting the lock quickly, she raced to Tikki.

"What's happening? I thought you were supposed to be a secret!"

"I am, but something has happened! I need you to be Coccinelle!"

"Right now? _Really_?" Solene's surprise washed to excitement. "Not only am I going to avoid lessons, but I'll be transforming for the first time! Oh, this is so wonderful! I mean, my father is going to kill me if he finds out I’m gone, but I'll deal with that later."

"I can sense that the enemy is an akuma."

"Akuma?"

"An akuma is a human that possess tremendous power given by another Miraculous.”

“Another Miraculous? Not my partner’s?”

“No, a separate kwami. From what I’m feeling this kwami’s power is being used for evil. The way to stop it is to find where the source of their power is and break it. Usually it’s an object that seems out of place or coveted by the akuma. Make sure to capture the butterfly that comes out.”  

"What about my partner?" Solene asked.

"He should be feeling it, too. But remember: only you can cleanse it."

"Find the source of power, break it, and capture butterfly. Got it!" Her shoulder's setting, her blue eyes clear and ready, she gave a small squeal of happiness.

"I'm ready to do this!"

"You can do it!" Tikki nodded encouragingly. "Just follow your instincts. You were made to be Ladybug. I can tell. Now say the words!"

"Tikki, _transformez-moi!"_

The magic hit automatically from her feet to her head. Her slippers disappeared and were instantly strapped with brown leather boots that extended all the way up her thighs. Her blue gown faded away to a lovely red tabard that held black dots with a wavy black lace at the bottom edge. Underneath the tabard, a comfortable, white, long-sleeved shirt with a folded collar spread down her arms to her wrists. Brown leather gloves, the same material as her boots, covered her fingers. A jet-black corset replaced her blue bodice and laced around her back. A tan belt strapped around her waist with a black scabbard along with a red and black spotted yoyo. A rapier appeared in the scabbard with a spiral handle - just like a pirate would have. Her hair, suddenly unbounded by the braid, flowed freely over her shoulders to her mid back. A mask of deep red covered her nose and eyes. Watching in the vanity mirror, her booted feet did a small dance of delight as a tan cavalier's hat with a brilliant red feather perched on her head to finish the look.

"Woooow…" she breathed, twisting in the mirror to admire her reflection. "I really am Coccinelle! I look amazing! Like a true vigilante!" A tight feeling hit her stomach and she sensed a dangerous presence not too far away.

The akuma...

"No time to admire my spots. I've got a job to do!" Hurrying to the window, she tossed it open and plucked up the yoyo from her belt. Looking at the buildings around her, she shot the weapon forward and it automatically circled around a chimney across the street.

"Watch out, Paris! Here comes Coccinelle!"

And without another thought, she laughed happily as the yoyo whipped her out of the window and into the brilliant blue sky.


	4. Origins Part 4

Already she had four flowers: two small daisies from two street children, a rose from a woman coming out of a cafe, and a white peony from an older man sitting on the bench. She walked with a simple sway, her emerald eyes searching for more. People were beginning to scream, to run away from her. All she had to do was hold her blooming chrysanthemum out to them and they changed. They became her flowers.

A carnation followed by three more daisies. Then an alstroemeria.

More flowers for her collection. She had to have more…

Her feet were following a familiar pathway.

Her broken heart was leading her to the one she wanted to change the most: Gaspard.

****************************

Coming in through the back door of the bakery just as his father was putting the finishing touches on the cake, Gaspard hurried up the stairs before the older Dupain could question what was in the sack. Throwing the cheese on the bedspread, he raced back down with Plagg still in his pocket.

Hearing the front door ring, he announced, "I'll get it!"

A customer, a girl whose eyes lit up at the sight of him, came to the counter and asked for an éclair. With a smile and a nod, Gaspard grabbed the pastry and gave her the change. He felt Plagg kick him, but ignored it, entering the back room once more. The cake was beautiful with Gaspard's lace design on the sides, cut strawberries lining the edges, and pieces of crumbled white chocolate on top. Marcus grinned proudly at it.

"This has turned out to be one of the best cakes I've ever made!" he said, with his broad chest puffing. Reaching for a wrapped box, he gestured to the door with his head. "Now I gotta load it into the cart. If you don't mind helping me."

"Not at all, Papa!" Gaspard moved to open the back door and get the cart ready. Sliding the inside hatch of the cart, he felt Plagg kick him again. Opening his pocket, the little kwami was about to speak, when Marcus appeared, holding the large boxed cake aloft on his muscular shoulders.

"Thank you, son!" he said happily, settling the cake safely in the cart and closing the hatch. Giving Gaspard's shoulder a gentle squeeze, he grinned. "Keep an eye on the store for me while I'm gone. Shouldn't be more than an hour or two."

"I will," he said, putting his hand in his pocket to settle the squirming kwami. Plagg nipped his finger and he jumped at the sharp pain. Already turned away, Marcus missed the gasp and the scowl his son shot at his apron.

" _Au revoir,_ mon fils!"

"Bye, Papa!"

Shutting the door, the kwami tossed out of the pocket and floated in his face angrily.

"You bit me! What is your problem?" Gaspard growled, holding his finger to his chest. He hadn't broken the skin, but it still hurt.

"I sense it! You need to transform, kid! It's close!"

"Sense what?" Gaspard stepped back with confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"An evil akuma is coming!" The black cat stopped for a moment, his pupils suddenly widening.

"And so is 'she'." He added cryptically.

"'She'?"

****************************

"I think I'm getting the hang of this!" Coccinelle cried out as she slipped the yoyo around another pole and was flung into the air. It was like a dream! Like flying! Her senses were sharper, her brain analyzing quicker, her reflexes faster. Turning her blue eyes to the right, she grinned at the Eiffel Tower and its large crowd of visitors. Seemed as if the Expo was continuing to draw crowds.

Another hitch in her stomach told her she was getting closer to the akuma. A drop of danger flickered in the back of her mind just as a scream hit her ears from below. Flipping in mid-air, she landed perfectly on a striped awning and watched.

The monster, strolling confidently down the street, was both beautiful and terrible. Her skin was a dark forest green. Her vibrant red hair cascaded down to her lower waist. With a dress made of what looked like large rose petals, Coccinelle watched in horror as the creature shot a young girl in the back with a large flower in her hand and the girl instantly disappeared. Instead, in her place, was a single white lily.

"Not enough, not enough, not enough! I need him!" The creature - akuma, her brain remembered - roared out angrily.

Withdrawing her rapier, she swished it in the air. Though she'd never even touched anything remotely like a blade except for a dinner knife, the weapon felt like an extension of her. As if she'd grown up with it permanently attached to her hand. A confident grin spreading on her face, she leaped off the awning and flipped twice in the air to land in front of the akuma.

"Who…?" The akuma cried in surprise. "What are you?"

"What am I? Heh, you're one to talk, flower child!" She smirked, standing at attention with her sword in her hand. Spinning her yoyo like a shield, she edged closer and tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. "I am Coccinelle the Vigilante!"

"Coccinelle? What a beautiful flower you will make. I am Flower Petal and you shall be mine!"

The akuma shot at her with the chrysanthemum in her hand and Solene swung her yoyo forward, neutralizing the attack. The monster screamed angrily and shot another fire. Whipping her rapier, she sliced through the spell and it dissolved once more.

"What's with the attacks? I thought flowers liked ladybugs!" Coccinelle grinned cheekily before rushing forward. Flower Petal backed away, a slice of fear stealing over her beautiful features. She escaped down a long alleyway to the right and Coccinelle followed, lassoing her yoyo around a street lamp. Pulling and flipping to a roof, the vigilante jumped over beams and slid around chimneys, her blue eyes zeroing in on the akuma's back.

Suddenly, Coccinelle skidded to a halt at a panicked shout below her. Balancing on the shingles, she saw a large man with a cart jumping back in surprise. The akuma had stopped running, her flower ready to strike.

"No!" Coccinelle shouted, leaping down impulsively. Landing on the monster, she tackled her to the cobblestone just as the shot left the chrysanthemum. It veered off wildly, hitting a balcony and transforming it into a climbing english vine.

"Run!" She cried, and the man stepped forward as if to help.

"Miss! What is-?"

 _"Run!"_ She repeated as the akuma struggled underneath her. Watching the man hurry away into the street, she almost missed the flowerhead turning by itself to her face. She gasped - leaping away just in time. Sliding on the street and spinning her yoyo, her blue eyes watched as Flower Petal stood slowly, a growl escaping her throat.

"I don't have time for you, bug! I have to get him!"

"Too bad I'll have you seeing _spots_ before you can try!" The raven-haired vigilante declared, leaping forward once more with her yoyo.

The akuma dodged her attack and jumped away, racing out of the alleyway and into the busy street.

"Pretty fast for a plant…" Coccinelle scowled before starting the chase again.

****************************

"Plagg - wait - I don't know if I can do this!"

Gaspard was panicking. His heart was racing. He knew he'd agreed to try out these powers before renouncing Plagg, but… he didn't think it would be so soon! What would his father do in this situation? His mother? Pacing in the back room, his breathing was short, his hands were shaking, and there were small spots in his vision.

The black cat, his tiny arms crossed over his chest, frowned.

"Your dad just left, kid! A monster is out there and your father is going to be in trouble. You don't have time to be indecisive. Ugh, this is usually so not like me..."

The front door banged open and Gaspard jumped in surprise. Racing to the front of the bakery - Plagg slipping into his apron again - Gaspard almost collapsed in relief. His father, disheveled and panting, was leaning against the door frame and wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Papa! You're okay!" he cried, running forward - just as a brilliant light hit his father from behind.

"Gas-" The words caught as his father disappeared - a sprig of blue delphinium falling to the ground.

"Pa… Papa…"

His green eyes were on the flower. On the spot where his father once was. He'd just been there. He was okay. And now he was not. Stepping into the doorway to casually pick up the blue delphinium, a green-skinned monster dressed in red rose petals grinned, her emerald eyes shimmering with joy.

"Finally a lovely filler flower," she cooed, swirling the blue sprig in her green fingertips. Gaspard stumbled back as the monster's gaze suddenly pricked on him dangerously. "Hello, my little sunflower," she said softly. "I've been looking for you."

A brush of recognition hit him. The red hair, the shape of her eyes, even the way she talked. Glancing at her hand, an enlarged red chrysanthemum, he said her name without thinking.

"S-Sara."

"No!" The monster snarled, holding up the large flower. "Sara is no more! Now it's Flower Petal. And you, Gaspard, shall be added to my collection!"

 _"Spotted you!"_ A female voice echoed from outside - making the monster turn around. A figure swung out of nowhere from the sky, her red and black spotted outfit reminding Gaspard of a flying ladybug.

Flower Petal ducked and he could see the blue of her eyes as the new girl flew straight over the monster's head, past the front door, and landed ungracefully on the counter. She rolled over the top and crashed painfully into the empty heating rack behind it.

"Ooooouch…" she winced from the ground, "note to self: be careful swinging through doors…"

"Coccinelle!" Flower Petal snarled, "How dare you interfere!"

Watching the black-haired girl jump to her feet with surprising agility, he could only stare as she rushed around the counter to cover him; a rapier swishing out of a scabbard buckled to her waist and something that looked like a red and black yoyo spinning dangerously in the air.

Her hat, her risqué outfit, he blinked in surprise.

Was this the _'she'_ Plagg was talking about?

"Salut! I'm the magnificent Coccinelle!" She grinned over her shoulder at him. As her blue eyes flicked to his green, a startled look passed over her face before she turned back to the akuma.

"You better get out of here. She's dangerous."

"Papa..." Gaspard breathed, the blue delphinium still clear in his mind. "This is my fault. Sara… she just wanted to give me a-"

"Less guilt and more running, Baker Boy! Once I figure out where that butterfly is, I can fix it! Your papa will be back and so will your friend! I promise I'll protect you!"

Plagg was kicking his thigh again. Turning on foot, he raced out the front room and crossed to the stairs. Hearing the girl beginning to fight and several things crashing in the bakery, he stumbled to a halt at the top of the staircase and glanced at his silver ring.

"Plagg-"

"Yes, that's her. Yes, she can save your father. And yes, your friend will be back to normal. But she needs you! You must transform!"

The ladybug girl's voice rang from the front: "Not working, huh? Then let's see if you can get the _point_!"

Gaspard swallowed his fear.

"Alright, Plagg… _transformez-moi._ "

****************************

It was for some strange reason; Flower Petal's weapon had stopped working inside the bakery. Just as well, she was perfectly agile without it - hitting Coccinelle square in the chest with the oversized chrysanthemum and sending her flying into a display case full of pastries. The poor shop was getting quickly destroyed. She had to find where the akuma was hiding and fast!

Shaking bits of cream from her hair, she picked herself up and spun the yoyo. Taking a charging leap with her rapier, she slashed - and missed. Flower Petal had evaded her, pursuing out the front bakery and up the stairs where Baker Boy had disappeared to.

"No!" Coccinelle called, slipping on loose bits of pastries before racing to follow her footsteps. "Get back here! Your fight is with me!"

Hurrying up the stairs, she burst into a bedroom, only to find it completely empty - the window open and the curtains billowing.

"Baker Boy…" she whispered with a drop of panic slicing through her. Her blue eyes searched for a flower, but all she saw was a messy bed, a tattered nightstand, and an old stand up chest of drawers. Hurrying to the window, she climbed on the sill and whipped the yoyo in the air. It caught on the building across the street and she swung, her gaze scanning desperately.

She had said she would protect him. That she would fix this. He had been a nice guy, wanting to give her an éclair yesterday. So friendly.

And she _really_ wanted to try that éclair…

"Where are you?" she mumbled, trying to reach out with her heightened senses to track the akuma. Swinging past another chimney, Coccinelle’s gaze drifted to the Eiffel Tower - the massive crowd that was still coming to see the famous attraction - and it clicked in her mind.

"A large crowd… more flowers to collect!"

Tossing the yoyo, she did a graceful twist in the air and changed course.

She'd save him - Baker Boy.

She'd find that akuma and stop his friend from hurting anyone else!

She'd save Paris!

****************************

Flower Petal, using her strength, raced through the street, her emerald eyes searching fruitlessly for Gaspard. He hadn't been in his room… she could have sworn she'd seen him run up those stairs. Maybe he'd somehow escaped. No matter, she'd turn all of Paris into flowers if she had to. She'd find him eventually.

And then he'd be hers… forever…

She shot her chrysanthemum on her way, multiple roses, agapanthus, and even a toss of Queen Anne's lace appearing where people once stood. Laughing, Flower Petal was growing a beautiful bouquet. Such a beautiful one.

One that would be fit for a wedding…

The sunlight beamed on her and she was strong. Even stronger than before! With a running leap, the akuma jumped over the Pont d'Iena, shooting a beam from her flower as she did so. The number of flowers was like a garden. A garden flourishing just for her… vendors, children, parents, peddlers, officials. They were all the same under her control. They were all hers. They were screaming now - the crowd of people. No matter, she'd get them eventually. Just like Gaspard.

Always like Gaspard.

"Greedy little aphid, aren't we?" A familiar voice rang through the air and Flower Petal had no time to stop the rapier that swiped at her back. The blade sliced through the back of her rosebud dress and was followed by a leather-booted kick in the side. The hit knocked her jump off course towards the Seine. The akuma shrieked as she fell over the bridge towards the dark waters of the river - and her fall suddenly stopped half a meter from the lapping waters.

Glancing up, she was shocked to see a yoyo wrapped around her leg. Coccinelle was pulling her up little by little.

"I promised Baker Boy that I would save you, so that's what I'm going to do!" she hollered. "Please, let me help you! I don't want you to get hurt!"

****************************

She pulled Flower Petal up, her mind scrambling to figure out where the akuma could possibly be hiding. She'd slashed at the girl's dress thinking that it could have been there, but no butterfly had come out. Nothing had happened - except that she almost killed the girl tossing her over the bridge.

Maybe she wasn't cut out for this after all…

Flower Petal, pulled over the bridge railing, was on her hands and knees panting. Various flowers surrounded them both as Coccinelle unwrapped her yoyo from the akuma's ankle with a flick of her wrist and started spinning the weapon in her hand again.

"Give it up, Flower Petal, and tell me where the butterfly is hiding," Coccinelle demanded. "You don't want to be this way. I know you don't."

"How do you know what I want? You don't know anything about me!" With a cry, Flower Petal raised her chrysanthemum and fired. The shot was so quick, the vigilante had no time to react. No time to think. All she could see was the beam of light coming for her-

A warm black shadow knocked into her. Rolling over the cobblestone and flowers, her eyes were whirling. Her back pressed uncomfortably on the ground, a gentle hand cradled the back of her head protectively.

And then it cleared to pointed black ears, shaggy blond hair, and vibrantly beautiful green eyes behind a black domino mask. A young man, a jet-black gentleman's coat hanging loosely about his hips, was straddling her. One hand curled around her back and the other buried in her hair, Coccinelle couldn't get her thoughts straight and continued to stare in awe at the slit of his cat-like pupils. Flowers scattered in the air and time slowed as he glanced down at her with concern lacing his effervescent gaze.

"Are you alright, Mademoiselle?" he asked her, his smooth tenor sending a wash of heat into her stomach.

"I-I-"

"Watch out!" he cried, scooping her in his arms and jumping with feline grace from another hot blast from the flower. Her blue eyes still unable to comprehend what she was seeing, she held him around his neck tightly as he snagged a metal pole that was tucked around his back and the staff grew longer.

"Whoa!" she squeaked as they were both tossed into the air - high above the crowd - towards the Eiffel Tower. He landed with that same feline agility on the second story of the tower, both feet planted firmly and knees bending slightly. Setting her down, he stepped away and his quiet green eyes instantly flicked over the screaming crowd.

Meanwhile, a buzzing in her head, a terrible pulse in her ears, and a catch in her throat made her knees weak.

He… he was _beautiful_. Standing like a hero, his back was straight and his black, clawed fingers clenched on his metal pole. His coat, fastened with small gold shank buttons to his throat, split into four parts around his lower waist and ended at his knees. Tight black pants, thick ebony boots, she even noticed a black belt buckled over his coat at his hips; it hung long, practically touching the ground and flicked back and forth behind him - just like a cat.

"Wh-what are you supposed to be?" She gasped out. He turned to her with a look.

"I'm a cat, I guess," he said with a shrug.

"You guess?" She snorted, getting to her feet and trying to ignore the fluttered in her chest. "Well, kitty, thanks for the save back there. I wasn't looking forward to becoming flora. Do you have a name?"

The young man had a thought cross his face before he shrugged. "You can call me 'Chat'."

"'Chat'? Really?" She crossed her arms. "You don't have a better name?"

"Haven't had time to think of one."

"I'm sure I can help with that," she smirked, surprising even herself at her coquettish behavior.

What was she doing? A monster was on the loose, poor Baker Boy was a flower, and she was openly flirting with a black-cloaked stranger dressed like a cat!

"She's coming!" he cried out, backing away. His metal staff spun over his wrist and he held it steady.

"Do you have any ideas where the akuma might be hiding?" she asked, stepping to join his side. "It’s in an object that she has with her. We have to destroy it to free her."

The cute, black ears on top of his head twitched down, not that she was watching them, and he sighed. "If there's anything wrong with her, the source would be in that huge flower she's carrying."

"Really? How do you know? Feline instinct?"

"...I guess you can call it that."

As Flower Petal jumped to join them on the Eiffel Tower, she whipped out her rapier and spun her yoyo.

"Feline instinct, huh? That's nice to have around."

The akuma laughed loudly. "I've got you now, Coccinelle! You must be the one hiding Gaspard!"

"Gaspard?" she asked confused. "Who's that?"

"What do you want with him?" Chat stepped up, his broad shoulders tense - again, not that she was looking.

"He is my precious flower. The centerpiece for my collection!" Watching the akuma stop short with a purple mask appearing suddenly over her face - it was as if she was listening to someone only she could hear. Nodding and smirking, the purple disappeared and she pointed the chrysanthemum at Chat. "Change of plans! Tell me where the book is!"

He dodged the shot, athletically jumping and flipping away.

“What book?” he asked her. Coccinelle just shrugged.

The akuma's fire then turned to her. Neutralizing the attack with her spinning yoyo, she gasped as the flower started firing multiple shots. It was becoming harder and harder to block. Suddenly, a broad black back covered her, the staff slicing through a shot that almost got her. Together, they ducked and dodged the attacks, each one getting closer and closer to grazing them. Finishing with him standing in front of her with his staff spinning like a shield, he glanced back and they caught eyes for a moment.

Blue and green.

"Any ideas, Spots?"

"I'm thinking! Oh… _wait_!"

Of course!

Tossing her yoyo in the air, she cried, "Lucky Charm!" A bright magic spun around her yoyo and she caught it as it fell back to her. Heavy red and black spotted fabric draped into her hands. Holding it out, she blinked at a loss.

"It's… a large bed sheet…"

"A what?" He cried out incredulously, his breath beginning to pant. "Hurry! I can't keep this up much longer!"

She was busy, her mind beginning to click together. The akuma, slowly approaching with a triumphant look on her face was also getting closer to several leftover metal rods that the builders had left. Using her yoyo and her agility, she could possibly… And then with his powers, since there wasn't enough - she glanced up at the shining sun.

Perfect.

"Your powers are destruction, right?"

"Yeah," he panted. "Why?"

"Activate it and hit the spot directly above her!" She commanded as she suddenly jumped from out of his cover.

"Spots, wait!"

Flicking her yoyo, the string wrapped around one of the leftover poles and it flipped in the air to land with a sickened metal crunch; deeply driven into the ground at Flower Petal’s toes. The akuma growled and turned her flower to shoot her, but Coccinelle was already gone, wrapping another pole and slamming it to the akuma's right.

"Cataclysm!" His voice roared above their heads and, as the ceiling broke apart, a large pillar from the Tower broke free from the support to slam behind Flower Petal, successfully keeping her from escaping. Another pole drove to her left, several more on the sides. Coccinelle’s yoyo was whipping in the air.

And, within seconds, she was trapped.

"Wha-What?" Flower Petal cried, her hands grasping the bars of her jail. "You haven't stopped me yet! I still can use my chrysanthemum!"

"Not if you don't have light!" the vigilante shouted, using the bed sheet to drape over the top of the poles, completely blocking out the sunlight. Flower Petal gave a frightened look from the makeshift jail. She tried to fire and the flower sputtered, almost wilting.

"Give it up! You can't use your power anymore! It's hopeless!" Tossing her yoyo through the bars, it wrapped around the flower and wrenched it out of the akuma's grasp.

"No! NO!" Flower Petal screeched as Solene slashed the flower with her rapier and the stem sliced in two. Chat came up beside her, his green eyes watching curiously as a black and purple butterfly slipped out.

"That must be the akuma’s power source -  it’s pretty!"

She grinned as she swung the yoyo forward and easily caught the akuma inside it. She released the latch and a pure white butterfly burst forth, flapping innocently into the sky.

As the akuma's powers began to dissolve, the girl moaned and Chat's green eyes grew wide.

Zipping her yoyo to a higher beam, Coccinelle was whipped into the air and she snatched the bed sheet off the polls. Tossing it outside the Eiffel Tower and over the crowd, she cried, " _M_ _iraculous Ladybug!"_  and landed back on the ledge of the Tower, watching her magic race from the sky to spread towards the poles, the ceiling, and all over Paris.

Every flower was quickly changed back to human.

Every damage was completely fixed.

Chat, holding the fainting girl in his arms, joined her as she stood at the edge of the Tower. One by one, the crowd looked up.

And, what started as a small cheer, erupted into a thunderous applause.

"You did it… you actually did it…" Chat turned to her from the roaring crowd at their feet. "How did you know she couldn't use her powers without sunlight?"

"When we were fighting in a bakery earlier, her flower stopped working as soon as she stepped inside." She grinned proudly up at him. "I kinda put two and two together."

"Pretty impressive, Spots." He gave her a nod and a small smile of his own.

That smile caught her off-guard and she knew she was beginning to blush. He was so dashing, standing there with the girl in his arms, his black coat billowing in the breeze. He'd saved her as well - jumping in the nick of time and carrying her off to safety. And he'd helped her with the akuma attacks, twirling his staff almost effortlessly. She had a strange urge to tease him, flirt with him, and maybe even be a little more affectionate than was proper…

She automatically quelled the feeling.

But then, a realization dawned on her. Why should she have to quell her feelings? Why couldn't she flirt? Right now, she wasn't Solene Montilyet. She wasn't the high-class daughter of a French bureaucrat with a reputation to protect. She wasn't dressed in some froppy gown with her hair tied and her waist pinched trying to impress the aristocracy.

Right now, she was Coccinelle the Vigilante. The girl who just saved Paris!

And she was _free_.

She tilted her cavalier hat on her forehead with her fingertips and edged closer to him. Reaching up, she traced a teasing finger down the sleeve of his coat and he gave her a confused look.

"You did pretty well yourself...  _tiger_ ," she giggled before a chirp in her ears made her jump. She heard it from him as well, noticing a black ring on his clawed finger.

"I guess this is the warning we get before we change back," he said, glancing at the flickering paw print. "Our identities have to be a secret. I better go."

"I can take her back if you want," Coccinelle volunteered, her blue eyes dancing over the celebrating city. "There's someone I want to check up on."

"Who?" Chat asked curiously.

"This one boy with blond hair. He apparently works at the bakery. I promised him I'd make sure he was safe."

She missed Chat's mouth falling open awkwardly before he quickly closed it with a snap.

Turning to him, she held out her arms for the girl.

"No-no, I've got her. I'll make sure to check up on him, too. I know the boy you're talking about. Don't worry about it. You better go before you change back."

A brush of disappointment crossed her face before she gave him another flirtatious grin. "Alright then, have it your way! Oh, and by the way, it's not 'Spots'. It's 'Coccinelle the Vigilante'. Do your best to remember that, _tiger_."

"My name is _not_ 'tiger'!" he called after her as her yoyo tossed her away.

****************************

"That wasn’t the guardian..." the man snarled under his breath, “ _Dark Wings Fall._ ”

The lavender kwami sped from the broche and he sagged in the air, his large eyes blinking tiredly.

“Why were they able to cleanse the akuma? You said only the Turtle escaped the temple, Nooroo.”

“I-I was unaware the guardian had taken the other Miraculous when the temple burned. I have only ever felt the Turtle active. They must have just received them, master.”

“You should have mentioned that this was a possibility,” he snarled at the little creature - who seemed to curl in on himself in fear. “Now the guardian has protection and I am no closer to finding the book or its whereabouts. They also have a way of stopping my powers.”

Running a frustrating hand through his locks, the man let out a long breath. His anger cooled as rationality took over.

“No matter. I will destroy them and take their Miraculous as well as the book. With more power on my side, I’ll be unstoppable. Then the guardian will have nowhere to hide.”

****************************

Chat gently dropped Sara off in front of the bakery. Giving her a salute, he was about to jump to the roof when the redhead caught his clawed hand in her small hands.

"Who-Who are you?" Her doe eyes were wide with curiosity.

He swallowed and gently took his hand out of hers.

"Call me… Chat… or… I don't know. Make something up. Something that sounds heroic." His ring beeped and he shot her a grin before leaping to the rooftop of the bakery. Dropping down outside the back door, he transformed back and Plagg landed in his apron pocket with a groan.

"Camembert…" the tiny cat complained.

"It's coming. One moment, Plagg," Gaspard whispered kindly. Opening the door, he was suddenly engulfed by thick arms and the wonderfully familiar smell of bread.

"My son! Oh, my son! I was so worried about you!" His father was crying, squeezing him tightly.

"You're okay, Papa…" He couldn't help himself. A tear leaked out of his green eye as he wrapped his arms around his father's torso to return the hug. "You're back…"

"What happened?" Marcus Dupain sniffed. "I was coming to the bakery to warn you and then there was nothing. I woke up here and - the Hambert's cake!" His father let Gaspard go to race out the door.

With a teary laugh, Gaspard wiped his eye and glanced at the doorway to the front of the bakery - and was startled at the silent figure standing there. Green fell into doe brown. Sara's face was blushed, her fingers twisted shyly, and tears dripped down her freckled cheeks.

"I'm sorry-" she started, but he stopped her, walking up close. Pulling her into a hug, she gasped as her head fell against his chest.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you earlier. You were trying to do something nice for me and I completely ignored you. This was all my fault. Will you forgive me?"

Sara, wiggling out of his arms, backed away with her head shaking. "No, Gaspard. Don't be nice to me. This was all my fault. I-I-I… I have had a crush on you for a long time now… and I wanted to tell you, but I was saying all the wrong things. It's no wonder you didn't understand what I was trying to say."

"Sara," he started, but she hushed him again with a look. A familiar look that she had used when they just kids playing together. He felt his lips tugging into a smile.

"I understand you don't feel the same way I do. I-I think I'll be okay with it."

The tears still dripping from her brown eyes suggested otherwise.

Gaspard put a hand on her shoulder and sighed. "I'm sorry, Sara. I really am."

"I'll… I'll stop selling flowers outside the bakery if this is too awkward for you. I was so scared to tell you because I didn't want to ruin our friendship with my feelings. The last thing I'd ever want to do is make you uncomfortable, Gaspard."

"The only way you’ll stop selling flowers here is if _you_ want to, Sara. You are my friend and I will always care about you. It might not be exactly in the same way you feel about me, but-"

The redhead gave a watery smile. Reaching up, she tapped his nose affectionately. "You know, I think I'll stick around for a bit. Gotta make sure the girl you do fall for is worthy of you. You're too nice for your own good."

"I-I am?" He gave her a confused frown.

Laughing, she shook her head.

"You are completely hopeless, Gaspard. You're going to be single forever if you don't wake up sometimes."

"Wake up? Wake up to what?"

The happy brown eyes of Marcus Dupain watched from the back door as the old friends laughed together. With a tight sigh, he shrugged to himself before pulling the cart back down the street.

 _Guess I'm not as good at reading him as I thought_ , his father mused with a chuckle.

****************************

"I flew through the air and I grabbed the bed sheet! It worked just like you said! ' _Miraculous Ladybug''_! And everything got fixed! It was pure magic!" The girl stopped, her braid brushing over her shoulder and her blue gown swishing as she turned to Tikki. "I do wonder if Baker Boy is okay though. He was really nice to me. And I really, really want to try an éclair."

"The magic fixes everything. The boy should be fine," Tikki chirped, grabbing another cookie from the napkin.

"Maybe I'll stop by tomorrow to see him. Wow, I can do that now, Tikki! Just… leave. Fly out the window and away from this house..." Solene's blue eyes misted over with awe.

She'd been given something she never knew she'd desperately wanted until now: Freedom.

"Well, it sounds like you did very well for your first time as Coccinelle. I couldn't be prouder of you, Solene. You are the perfect choice for a Ladybug."

"But I couldn't do it without that Chat guy. He was… he was something else…" Solene sighed, turning to her bed to flop against the pillows. "He's my partner you were talking about?"

"Yes, the Cat."

" _T_ _iger_ is a better name," Solene muttered slowly with a growing smile. Staring at her ceiling, she remembered the way his messy blond hair had tossed into his brilliant green eyes over that black mask. His cute pointed ears and twitchy belt at his waist acting just like a cat tail. He was smart, figuring out the monster's location. And he was so fast, leaping in to save her.

Her legs curling up on the bed, she recalled the way he'd cradled her in his arms, hurrying her to the Eiffel Tower. The way they'd worked in sync against the monster's attacks and he'd covered for her while she figured out how to stop them.

Tikki glanced over at her Chosen's blushing cheeks and shy smile.

And she gave a light sigh before taking another bite of cookie.

_Here we go again…_


	5. Lady Nightmares Part 1

Sitting at the dining hall alone with the sun attempting to peek through overcast clouds outside the tall windows, she took a sip of tea. The pink flowered cup graded as she set it back on the matching saucer. This was the only sound to greet her this quiet morning. Glancing at the empty seat at the head of the table, Solene sighed and slipped her finger into the tight collar of her stiff white dress in attempts to stretch the fabric. It was suffocating now that May was in full bloom, the weather growing warmer by the day. With high collar fashion an increasing demand for the summer look, she was suffering.

Picturing her loose collared blouse and breezy red tabard she wore as Coccinelle, she groaned and reached over to stab her fork into her untouched scone. What she wouldn't give to be swinging through the skies right now, the wind brushing her loose hair off her face; her rapier at her side and her yoyo tossing her over the busy buildings and streets-

The door opened on the far side of the room, successfully knocking her daydream out of her head.

"Mademoiselle Montilyet," a manservant bowed quickly. "Your father wants to speak to you in his office when you are done with breakfast."

"He does?" _He could have come had breakfast with me and said whatever he wanted, but no. Instead I must go to him. Go figure._

Keeping her eyes from rolling with annoyance, she nodded to the manservant and said, "I will be there soon."

"Very good, my lady."

He left the room, the door shutting with an echoing bang - spilling the emptiness over the entire grand dining hall.

Yesterday, with the thrill of her transformation, fighting the akuma, saving her beautiful city, the thunderous applause singing just for her and Chat as they stood together on the Eiffel Tower - it was as if it had all been just a dream. She was back in her sad, lonely reality; her imagination her only comfort and friend.

Resting her chin in her palm, Solene sighed. Glancing at the large grandfather clock at the back wall, she decided she'd give herself five more minutes before she went to father's study.

**************************

Scooping up two dozen croissants from the tray, Gaspard had a permanent grin on his lips as he wrapped the pastries in a brown bag and handed it to the customer. The early morning busy as ever at the bakery, the blond was hurrying from corner to corner; grabbing half dozen rolls, leaping to the back oven to pull out the cookies, and slipping to the counter to fish another éclair. Marcus and several customers simply watched as, with athletic grace, Gaspard twisted mid-step to grab a chocolate croissant while carrying the white bread loaf tray on his shoulder.

"Someone's working hard today." Révérer commented as Marcus turned to grab his baguettes. He coughed into a handkerchief before adding, "he's at it even more than usual. Still busy from the Expo?"

Marcus' grin was about as big as Gaspard's. "That Tower is making us a fortune. People from the northwest are coming in to see it now."

"Ah! I would have thought the troubles of yesterday would have deterred the crowds."

"You mean the monster that attacked? I think that's made things even busier," Dupain said, handing him the baguettes. "It's all over the papers today. A large group just this morning told me they've come all the way from Beauvais to catch a glimpse of the Heroes of Paris. Oh, and the rumors are rampant. Black magic, demons, angels, demons _and_ angels, apocalypse, one even said it might be a curse."

The man laughed - which turned into another cough. "C-curse? Haven't heard that one yet."

"The funny thing is," Marcus added, "some attacks were right here in the bakery. I… wasn't there to see it, but Gaspard told me all about it. Thankfully, he was safe. He hid underneath the baking table 'round back."

"A blessing he wasn't hurt." Révérer's eyes flicked to Gaspard's blond head as he stocked the white loaves. "Did he tell you what they looked like?"

Marcus' dark eyes twinkled as he remembered the young lady in the tan cavalier's hat bravely leaping from the sky to tackle the monster. She had saved him, that little girl. She was obviously stronger than she looked, holding the monster down and shouting at him to run. Though Dupain had eventually been caught by the monster's spell, he'd learned later that it was all because of her powers that everyone who'd changed into flowers were turned back to normal. Her magic had fixed the physical damages around the city. Even the Tower, which had collapsed in on itself, was miraculously put back together.

"He didn't see much and I don't know much more than what the papers say," Dupain said evasively as he took money from the next customer and bent to grab three éclairs from the case.

The gentleman sighed and another small cough followed. "That photograph in the paper is so vexing. Faded, blurry, and barely discernible."

"You can kind of see them on the Tower. Like little black dots," The éclair customer piped in before heading out the door.

"I heard it was from an amateur photographer documenting the opening of the Tower. Hopefully we will have more photos soon - that is, if people start carrying cameras around everywhere." Dupain chuckled at the ridiculous thought.

"What a notion! Superheroes, monsters, and commercialized photography - we live in the future." Révérer laughed and waved to Marcus as he left.

As the next customer was deciding what they wanted from the delicacies case, Marcus glanced at his son as he passed. From what Gaspard had said last night, the monster had come into the bakery and the cavalier-hatted girl had arrived to save him. What had sat ill with Marcus was that, as Gaspard told the story, there was a touch of annoyance in his voice. He described fully the destruction of the bakery, even though her magic fixed it up and it was no harm done. The utter irritation in his son's expression was incredibly rare. He was usually so courteous to everyone.

For Marcus, he thought the girl was incredibly courageous. Why, if Dupain ever saw her again, he'd let her have whatever she wanted out of the store - free of charge!

There was a mystery brewing between his son and this wonderful girl.

What made her so different from everyone else in his son's eyes?

**************************

" _Enter_."

Demetri Montilyet's sharp command rang as soon as Solene poked her head through the doorway. Sitting in his mahogany leather seat, his large desk was built like a barricade in the middle of the circular room. A rectangle window sat facing east, the morning's murky light shimmering through the glass. Books of non-description were lined on the back walls.

Slipping through the heavy wooden door, she came forward to sit daintily on his visitor chair - a hard-backed seat with no cushion.

Her blue eyes flicked on his desktop and she was surprised to see several newspaper articles were strewn across the surface. Some looked as though he'd cut it out. She couldn't quite read what they were about from where she sat, and, as her father cleared his throat, she dropped her snooping, squaring her shoulders with proper posture.

"I wanted to speak with you about your behavior these past few days," he said grimly. Lacing his thin fingers underneath his chin, he regarded her with his ever-present sharpness in his blue eyes.

He had once been a handsome man: easy smiles and even easier laughs.

All that had changed when mother passed.

"My behavior?" she asked, keeping her voice steady and her face expressionless. "Have I done anything out of the ordinary, Father?"

His eyebrows crunched. "Running away from the Expo, wandering around the street like a common urchin, being discovered in a compromising position at the Seine, your abysmal behavior during Albert Pernell's visit, pretending to suddenly have a headache and leaving your studies, disappearing to God knows where during the monster attack at the Tower. Do I need to go on?"

"I was in the library." - At least that's what she told Marjoline yesterday evening. She wasn't sure if the maid believed her either.

"What were you doing in the library?"

"Reading."

"Reading through a headache?"

"I'm dedicated."

 _"Solene,"_ her father sighed. Rubbing his fingertips on his temples, he closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm not sure what is going on with you, but something has to change. There have been talks."

"Talks," she repeated flatly.

"Talks about your reputation."

"My _reputation_?"

"With your behavior at the Expo to your rudeness to Albert-"

"He's the one who had the emergency and had to leave!" Solene injected. "You're acting like it's my fault!"

She gasped as her father suddenly stood from his chair and slammed his hand on his desk with a terrifying bang. "And who would feel welcome with your behavior? You scoffed at him, rolled your eyes as he complimented you! You insulted him and shamed this family, Solene! Do you realize your name is sullied right now!? That fiasco at the Seine has made you the talk of our social circle - something only Albert Pernell can rectify! Your mother would be ashamed if she were here to see you!"

The raven beauty was quiet, but her heart pulsed fast and hard in her ears. Lowering her eyes, she stared at the newspaper articles on his desk without really looking. Her hands folded gently in her lap, she kept her breathing steady.

Solene knew his game - she knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to get her to cry. Trying to break her. She used to play that way when she was younger - break down into tears. But she was strong now. Try as he might, she had promised herself four years ago that she would never cry in front of him ever again.

And she had made good on that promise.

Her father, noticing that her expression had fallen into steel, took a deep breath and sat back down in his chair. It was a full minute of his eyes on her and her gaze on his desk until he finally exhaled slowly and said, "I have sent an invitation to the Bourgeois for dinner tonight."

Her stomach curled. "Sounds like fun."

His blue eyes narrowed at her. "You will be on your best behavior and accommodating to Claudette as much as possible. She is your last hope out of this mess."

"Can't hardly wait."

He was angry again, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She couldn't stand to be in his office any longer. She had to get away.

Standing up without his permission, his " _Solene, get back here_!" followed her out the door. She rushed out of the room, up the side stairs, and down the hall to her bedroom. Hurrying through the door, she slammed it before running to her bed and collapsing on it. She didn't cry, but she was trembling fiercely. The walls felt like they were closing in on her. She had to hold it in.

She wasn't weak!

She would never be weak!

Especially not because of him!

"Solene?" Tikki said her name hesitantly. The red kwami slipped from the vanity to sit on the coverlet in front of her face. "Are you alright?"

With a deep sigh, Solene swallowed the terrible bitterness and planted a quick smile on her face. The kwami's head tilted sweetly.

"It's going to be a difficult evening, Tikki."

"What's going on?"

"Only the worst people Paris has to offer are coming over for dinner. And I have to be the perfect hostess or my entire reputation is shattered beyond recognition."

"Oh, dear..." Tikki sighed sadly.

Flipping onto her back, her blue eyes studied the lattice carving of her ceiling. The exquisite engraved ridges lined with gold paint were fashioned to look like the gates of heaven. And Solene would be thrilled if she never saw it ever again. The burn began in her throat and she forced it away.

_Wait!_

Sitting up, she glanced at the kwami with an idea blooming. Eyes slipping to the window, she tapped her fingers on the bed. She just needed some air - some space. Even if it was only for an hour. She just wanted to clear her head before she had to deal with tonight. Facing her father after her storm off was going to be bad enough, but now she had Claudette on her plate as well.

But that could wait. All of it!

Because she was also Coccinelle!

She could patrol the streets! Just really quick! There might be evil doing that she needed to take care of! Another idea crossed her and her smile grew genuine. She had wanted to check on the Baker Boy! His bakery looked great before she smashed it to bits fighting that akuma! She'd get Tikki some quality cookies!

And an éclair for herself!

"Tikki?"

The kwami was looking at her curiously before her large eyes flickered with worry.

" _Transformez-moi!_ "

**************************

The morning rush was dwindling and Gaspard left his father counting the register at the front to head upstairs. Shutting the door, he smiled at the small black cat napping on his bed. Hearing him enter, Plagg raised his head sleepily and gave a toothy yawn.

"Busy morning?" The kwami asked, turning onto his back lazily with his feet and arms in the air.

Gaspard's smile widened at how cute the little creature looked. How could he have ever thought Plagg was a demon? He was like having a tiny talking cat… that also floated in the air and was obsessed with stinky cheese for some reason.

"It was a great morning!" The blond young man announced and walked to his chest of drawers to change into his baker's clothes. Fishing out his worn, brown shirt and stained, tan pants, he laid them on the bed next to Plagg and started unbuttoning his collar.

"What's got you so cheery?"

"Everyone is talking about what happened yesterday, Plagg! I still can't believe it myself!"

Flipping his shirt off his head, his hair fell over his eyes and he brushed it back impatiently. "It was so exciting and scary and-"

"Told you to wait till you transformed before renouncing me." Plagg gave a smug look before tilting his head curiously. "What are you doing?"

"We are making dough later today. It can get messy. These are my baking clothes."

"Well, count me out. Your apron pocket is not very comfortable."

Gaspard's smile grew mischievous and he leaned down to the kwami. "But what if I have to transform and save the world again?"

"Bread Man is here to save the day," Plagg smirked before cuddling back down in the sheets.

Snorting a laugh and gently rubbing a finger on the kwami's soft head, he was just about to slip on the brown shirt when Plagg suddenly sat up sharply. Black ears alert, his green eyes slipped to Gaspard's open window.

"What is it?" the blond asked.

The black cat was quiet. Rising, he floated closer, his ears and eyes straining on something.

"She's getting close. I can sense her."

"Sense who?" Gaspard was at a loss.

Plagg's pupils narrowed for only a second before growing extremely wide.

"Coccinelle!"

**************************

Swinging above the streets of Paris was as magical as she remembered. Though the sky was overcast, it brought a chill to the wind and washed away her troubles. She slung the yoyo around a tower and heard several gasps from the people below as she slipped gracefully above their heads. Civilians were looking up, many waving and cheering at her. With a smile on her lips and a blush on her cheeks, she tossed the yoyo to another chimney and gave a small wiggle of her fingers as she swung out of sight.

The bakery was several blocks past the Eiffel Tower and it took her only a few minutes to slip over the pointed shingled buildings and find the familiar flat rooftop. Twisting in mid-air, she landed beautifully on top of the bakery. Having picked at her breakfast this morning, the smell of sweet pastries made her stomach grumble.

A voice was speaking and she started in surprise. It sounded like a young man.

Hurrying to the backside of the bakery, she leaned forward and saw an open window about a meter down. The scandalous situation brought a blush to her cheeks and a giggle to her lips. Talk about ruined reputations! If her father could see her now, she would be an utter disgrace!

Visiting a young man's open window, _unescorted no less!_  
  
"Is someone up there?" A smooth voice called and she gasped in surprise as a blond head popped out the window. Dressed in a loose brown shirt, his hair was tousled on his head as if he'd been in a hurry. His gaze slipping up, she jumped back quickly, but it was too late.

"Coccinelle?"

Another giggle escaped and she timidly leaned forward to wave at him.

Blue hit green.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with a confused look.

"I wanted to check on you," she replied, with a sly grin on her lips. "I promised to protect you yesterday and I needed to know if I fulfilled it."

He blinked, a furtive expression crossing his features. Then he sighed with a small smile. "I'm fine. I found a hiding place. Besides, that black cat guy came by and made sure I was alright afterwards."

"He did? That's good. Tiger told me he would."

Baker Boy's mouth dropped into a scowl, but she missed it - her mind already speeding away with the delightful memories of her partner.

"He told me his name is 'Chat'."

"How boring," she scoffed. "Tiger is so much more mysterious!"

"He doesn't need a name like that to be mysterious. He's already awesome."

"Isn't he?" Her blue eyes widened behind her red mask. "He is so brave! He appeared out of nowhere. Did he tell you he jumped in and saved me? Carried me off like I was a princess! And he held off the akuma's attacks by himself on that Tower. Spinning his staff, woosh-woosh-woosh! He protected me while I figured out how to defeat it! I really like his tail! And his ears! And his hair! And his face! Oh, and his _eyes_!"

She couldn't see it, but his cheeks were growing increasingly red with each word she said. Settling down on the edge of his roof, her tan boots dangled in the air and her red tabard dress spread over her thighs. Scabbard tipped to the side and yoyo strapped to her belt, Coccinelle rested her chin on her gloved palm and looked out at the grayscale sky.

"S-so, I'm alright then. The akuma didn't get me," he said with a tight throat. "Is there another reason you're here?"

"I wanted some pastries."

"Pastries?"

She nodded happily with a wink. "I've heard it mentioned that your bakery makes the best in Paris. Had to stop by and confirm the rumor myself, naturally. Even the air outside is sweet. I love that smell, you know? It's just-"

"Comforting," he injected with a brush of tender understanding on his voice. "Like home."

"Well… like _a_ home, I guess," she said, picturing her lonely palace. Shaking the image out of her head, she added, "I want some cookies! Oh, and an éclair."

Apparently, she couldn't have picked a better order. Looking down, she caught his full bloom grin and he nodded enthusiastically. "Well, in that case, you want a dozen? Half-dozen cookies?"

"Better make it a dozen."

"And an éclair?"

"That's what I want!" she said cheerfully. "I've heard especially good things about the éclairs!"

Coccinelle caught the blush on his cheeks this time. Timidly, he reached back and scratched the back of his blond head. "Oh-oh, really? Who from?"

"Just... around." She shrugged vaguely.

"Why didn't you come through the front door if you wanted something from the bakery? The roof is a pretty non-traditional way of ordering."

"I'm Coccinelle, the Hero of Paris! If civilians _spotted_ me, they'd block me in trying to thank me for all the saving I did yesterday!"

"You don't want people thanking you?"

"They must admire this stylish hat from afar!" She laughed, tipping her tan buccaneer hat on her forehead. "Besides, I have to stay humble. If they cheered for me too much, I'll get a big head."

"Riiight. Humble..." A snort escaped him and she glanced down with delight to see him chuckling softly to himself. "Wait here then, humble Coccinelle. I shall return with your order."

He was about to duck inside when she leaned forward suddenly. "One more thing I wanted to say... I'm sorry about the bakery yesterday. I hope I didn't rough it up too bad. It wasn't my intention to destroy every piece of furniture."

"I-It's fine," Baker Boy stumbled as if surprised. "Your magic put it all back together again anyways."

"I know! I'm pretty _incroyable_!"

"And humble," he reminded, rolling his pretty eyes and leaving.

She heard him retreat out the door of his room and sighed. Already, she had smiled more today than she expected, especially with the prospect of Claudette in her near future. It had been a good idea to come here - even if it was _kind of_ running away from her problems. No, she shook her head at that thought. It wasn't technically running away. She'd be back home in a little bit. It was more like… taking a break. Yeah! A nice break! And she was getting Tikki cookies.

Tikki _had_ to have her cookies.

It was only a few minutes before she heard a door shut from inside and he was back at the window.

"Here," he said kindly, holding up a brown sack to her. "The éclair is inside as well."

Opening the sack immediately, she fished out the éclair and unwrapped it from the wax paper. It looked wonderful. Setting the bag aside, she took a bite and almost groaned. The cream puff was fluffy like air, the chocolate spread delicately over the top melted on her tongue. It was sweet, but not too sweet, hints of vanilla and a nutmeg spice mixed into the batter. Taking another large bite, she was sad to see it was already halfway gone.

"You like it?" he asked with a grin of pride.

"Like it?" She exclaimed with her mouth full. " _C'est fantastique!_ "

Baker Boy reached back to scratch the back of his head again - a habit she was noticing.

" _Merci beaucoup_. It's my recipe."

She already knew this when he had told her at the Expo - but that was when she'd been Solene. Instead, Coccinelle widened her eyes in pretend surprise.

" _It is?_ "

He nodded proudly and his green eyes turned to look out at the street below him. She followed his gaze, chewing softly.

This was strange. And weird. And _fun_. He was nice. She was surprised how easily he laughed, how quickly he'd jumped to tease her. He'd been completely different when she'd first met him as the Expo. Nervous, bumbling, and shy. Now, he was leaning on his window sill, a small smile still curled on his lips. She'd never really conversed with a young man without someone there to monitor.

Even with Albert yesterday, her father had been present the entire time. Bernard Abelin was the closest in age in her social circle, but she was pretty sure Bernard had the mental capacity of a sack of potatoes.

Baker Boy, however, had a bit of cheekiness to him she was beginning to enjoy. And to be speaking so open with a young man! _Alone!_ Without judging eyes! It was liberating! Even more liberating than swinging through the sky!

"What do you think about all of this?" His random question surprised her.

"About what?" she asked, finishing the éclair and wiping the crumbs off her dress.

"Well, I'm sure you weren't always like this." He glanced up at her. "Magical powers. Soaring over the rooftops of Paris. I-I, uh, I guess I am just curious how you feel about it."

"I love it," she answered honestly. Brushing her loose black locks over her shoulders, she sighed. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me. My partner is a handsome cat," - he blushed brightly at that - "my powers are incredible, and I get to save my city as a crime-fighting hero! It feels like… like the sky's the limit! I couldn't ask for more. It's like a fairy tale, you know?"

"I don't know much about fairy tales," he confessed.

She gave him an incredulous look. "You don't know about fairy tales, Baker Boy? Bluebeard? The Puss in Boots? Cinderella?"

"The Puss in Boots?" A furtive smile crossed his lips before he shook his head. "I'm too busy at the bakery to read such nonsense."

"Fairy tales aren't nonsense! Sleeping Beauty! You must know that one at least! It's famous!" Her blue eyes turned misty behind her red mask. "She's a princess that's put under a sleeping spell. Only a kiss from her true love can break it and wake her up."

"Bluebeard sounds more interesting than that." He rolled his eyes. "What's that about? He has a blue beard?"

She let out a loud laugh, which took him by surprise. "That's funny! I never thought of it that way! But yeah! I guess his beard is blue. The story is quite dark and violent. It's about a rich man who kills his wives."

" _That's_ a fairy tale? Sounds more like a nightmare!"

"Sometimes fairy tales and nightmares go hand in hand. It just depends on the outcome. I wouldn't want to fall into a cursed sleep."

"But to be awakened by true love? I thought all girls were into romance stuff."

Coccinelle snorted. "Oh, sure! Romance is great! I just know a true love's kiss is never going to happen if I fall into an eternal slumber. I'll just be a sleeping corpse forever."

His face turned strangely serious. "Coccinelle, you don't think you have true love out there to wake you?"

"True love? No. A _Bluebeard_? Maybe." She joked with a grin - but there was something strained behind her cheerful blue eyes. She missed the curiousness that flashed, but she watched as his light-blond hair flicked over his forehead and he looked down at his hands.

A feeling of awkwardness shimmer between them. Tension.

She let out a small giggle and it broke.

"So, Baker Boy, are you saying you want to be _my_ true love?"

"What!?" His pale cheeks flushed pink and she laughed harder at the panic on his face.

"You are so easy to tease, you know?"

He scowled, but it didn't last long. Shaking his head, he chuckled, "And, on that note, I've got to head downstairs. We are mixing dough for our bread loaves. Papa will be starting soon. Oh," he was suddenly reminded, "you need to pay for your pastries, Coccinelle."

"Ah!" Her blue eyes grew as wide as saucers and her hands tapped at her waist.

Then she cringed.

"So, um… about that..."

"What?" Though judging from his pained expression, he already knew what she was going to say.

"I-I… uhh… I don't have any money to pay for the pastries…?"

She gave him a silly giggle and his shoulders visibly dropped.

"Coccinelle…"

"I just- I forgot it!"

Shaking his head, he sighed. "You have superpowers, but you can't even remember to bring money for cookies."

"And an éclair," she added batting her eyelashes flirtatiously behind her mask. "Will you let this forgetful princess off the hook this time, my prince?"

Rubbing his face in his hands, he groaned, but there was a smile on his voice. "I guess I'll have to, but only for the cookies. I'll give you the éclair for free."

"Why?"

Their eyes locked as he looked up at her - his smile blooming on his mouth. "You spoke so highly of them, I can't help it. And, besides, do you want to pay for it?"

She laughed. "Not especially…"

"There you go. Consider it a gift. You don't pay for gifts."

The words were so familiar, she almost blushed. He'd said the same thing to her when she was Solene. _You don't pay for gifts_. Her heart warmed.

He was a nice guy.

"What a handsome prince I've found! So generous and kind!" Coccinelle jumped to her feet and grabbed the brown bag. "I'll make sure to pay for the cookies next time."

He blinked in surprise. "There's going to be a next time?"

"Of course! I'll be wanting more cookies - maybe another free éclair for a recurring customer…?"

"We'll see," Baker Boy snorted a laugh. "Does that mean you'll use the front door next time?"

"And miss a chance to reenact a scene from _Romeo and Juliet_? Not a chance!"

He frowned up at her with confusion written plainly on his face. "Wait, what?"

"Take a break from making up éclair recipes and grab a book sometime, silly prince. Find out who's the one standing at the window. ' _But soft, what light through yonder window breaks'…_ " Coccinelle giggled, reaching for her yoyo.

She tipped her hat to him.

"Happy baking, Juliet!"

"What are you talking about!?" His voice cried out as she zipped away high over the adjacent roof and out of sight.


	6. Lady Nightmares Part 2

Eyebrows raised, green eyes wide, and Plagg cackling behind him, Gaspard backed away from the window.

"She's crazy, Plagg," he said to the kwami, reaching back to scratch his head. "How many nicknames is she going to give me?"

"S-she called you  _Juliet_!" The cat snickered. Wiping under his green eye with a small black paw, he slipped to the stand, grabbed a slice of camembert from the open package, and plopped on his pillow.

"Ah, good, old William. Hadn’t thought about him in a while. He was a fun kitten."

"Hey! What did I say about having that stinky cheese on my bed? Eat it on the nightstand!"

The kwami rolled his eyes, leaned rebelliously, and shoved the yellow goop in his mouth. "This is way more comfortable. Besides, camembert isn't stinky! It's heaven…"

Watching Plagg inhale the cheese with a pointed look, Gaspard hurried over to change his pants.

He had to admit - he kind of liked Coccinelle. Though she was spacy and completely out of her mind, she was surprisingly easy to talk to. She was also clever in her own right. And brave. She'd been there to fight the akuma well before Gaspard worked up his courage to transform. And she'd come all this way to see if he was alright - a faint smile appeared on Gaspard's lips.

He also had to admit - he did kind of like her silliness as well.

However she wasn't the raven beauty he'd seen at the Expo the other day. Though they were similar with their dark hair and blue eyes, Coccinelle was far too flirty for his comfort. The red dress girl had a high-class touch of sophistication. An elegance and grace that he couldn't describe. If anyone could be called a princess, it would be her.

He sighed, cuddling his pants to his chest, remembering the way the crimson lace had illuminated her lovely pale skin from her parasol. Her blue eyes had danced to his - shimmering like a cloudless sky. _Look back at me,_ he’d whispered like a prayer - and lo, she _had_. As if by destiny. Their eyes had connected because he'd wished it. Like magic-

"Hey, kid! Your dad's calling you!" Plagg's voice broke through his image of her and Gaspard blinked. Unlacing the front of his trousers quickly, he slipped on his baker's pants, stumbled through the door, and down the stairs.

The black cat on his bed smirked with amusement before picking up another slice of cheese.

“ _Romeo and Juliet?_ Pfft, more like _Much Ado About Nothing._ ”

************************

Slipping through the window, a flash of light burst from her earrings and Tikki emerged. Her clothes flickered from the comfortable tabard and boots to the white, suffocating frock she had on earlier. With a groan, Solene pulled at the tight collar on her neck as the red kwami came up to her. Heading to her vanity, she sat on the cushion seat and opened the brown bag in her hands.

"Got you a treat," she said cheerfully, reaching in for the wrapped box of cookies. Tikki's already large eyes widened further as Solene set the box on the vanity and opened it up. Two rows of cookies sat beautifully aligned, their chocolate chunks melty and warm.

"You got these for me?" the kwami asked sweetly. Zipping down to the box, she reached for one, but stopped, her gaze falling sad on Solene's face.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course!" she said happily. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I… I just feel like… I don't know… earlier this morning you seemed really upset. You shouldn't keep things bottled up inside."

Reaching out, she gently petted the kwami on the head with her finger.

"I'm fine, Tikki. I don't have anything bottled up. I'm Coccinelle!"

"I know you are, but you are also Solene Montilyet. You may have been chosen, but you also have a life. Sometimes, for Ladybugs, it has been a challenge to balance the two."

"I'll manage! Trust me, Tikki, I can handle anything this world throws at me-"

Knuckles tapped on her door and Solene jumped. Opening the drawer to her vanity, she tucked the cookie box inside and Tikki phased through the vanity to join them. Standing with a flourish of white skirts, the raven-haired girl opened the door and a young maid bowed politely.

"Your father wants me to prepare you for tonight's guests."

Solene frowned - a slice of worry slipping through her ribcage. This was strange. Something was off.

"Where is Marjoline?" Solene asked with her eyes narrowing.

The maid swallowed, but remained silent.

************************

The desk had been cleaned of the article clippings. Folding his fingers importantly on the surface, he leaned forward in his leather chair and the fabric squawked.

"It has come to my attention that you are catering to Solene's frivolous fantasies," Demetri said quietly.

With wizened hands clasped behind her back, Marjoline's fingers fiddled with the bow of her crisp white apron nervously. Her dark eyes stared hard at his sharp blue and she willed her face to be expressionless.

"I distinctly remember forbidding her from reading those fictional stories, Marjoline. It puts dangerous ideas in her head. A woman of her stature and upbringing should only be concerned on how to build a good reputation for her future husband. I had urged you to ingrain this importance into her. Instead, she has become even more insolent and intolerable than ever before. She spoke back to me just this morning-"

"Sir," Marjoline started.

"Silence!" He barked. "There has been a lapse in your responsibilities, Marjoline. You haven't done as you are told, and because of that, my daughter's reputation and moral standing was almost called into question. There will be no more books except ones I've approved. She will go through her lessons during the day and head straight back to her room in the evenings after dinner. No more of this sneaking around the house, these lies about headaches and spending her entire day in the library. It's high time someone knocked that attitude out of her and forced her to finally act her age. I need her to be the proper lady she's meant to be in order to ensure a suitor will even want her. She holds the Montilyet name and legacy. She is the future of this family."

"I will make sure that-"

"No." The word was short, hard, and stabbed Marjoline right through her ribcage. "You have failed her, Marjoline. You have failed this family. You may stay tonight, but I want you gone from this house by morning. From this moment on, you no longer serve the Montilyets."

The old woman stumbled back, her shoulders trembling and her heart burning in her thin chest. Hands raising slowly to her mouth, a tear slipped down her wrinkled face.

"B-but, Monsieur Montilyet! I've served this family for-"

"Tenure matters not when this kind of neglect can flourish. It's high time we find someone else. You have grown too old and complacent. The problems with Solene will be resolved with a stricter, younger maid. Which reminds me-" he grabbed a piece of paper from his desk drawer, "-I'll have to be putting in an advertisement for your replacement as soon as possible."

Her knees were giving out, her mind was whirling, and she swayed on her feet.

"Please, Monsieur…"

"This is my final decision, Marjoline. You may go. Do not expect a reference from me."

Her feet turned her body and shuffled her out the door. Her hands, still on her face, were violently shaking. Passing two gossiping maids, they stopped as Marjoline continued to slowly walk down the hallway like one condemned to the gallows. Denial, anger, sadness, fear, and hatred tossed like a terrible tempest inside her breast.

For years… _decades_ , she'd served the Montilyet family faithfully. And now, just like a piece of stale bread, she'd been tossed out without another thought. And where was dear Solene? Did she even know her father had decided this? Was she hiding in the library again? It was irrational and she knew it. It wasn't fair of her and she knew that, too. But her hands dropped to clutch the crisp fabric of her clean apron and her heart burned with fury.

Fury for that _spoiled child_.

It was because of her and her insolence. Her utter disregard for propriety. Marjoline had tried to rein her in - had tried to make her into a proper lady - but… there was nothing to be done. The girl was a lost cause from the beginning and Marjoline was the blame for it. Her footsteps were faster as she neared her bedroom. Opening the door, she stared at the small space. Her wardrobe with only four dresses in it, her tiny bed perched in the corner, no window, no fresh air.

Coming to sit on the bed, she finally dropped her face into her hands and wept.

************************

Setting the blooming yeast aside in a large bowl, Gaspard ducked under his father's arm as the older Dupain reached for the salt to add to his flour. A small smile slipped on the blond's lips. Once his father was in baking mode, it was hard to snap him out of it. Thankfully, Gaspard knew to duck and dodge when his father decided to reach or stir something. “Baker's instincts”, his father always chimed under his breath. “Our family have been bakers for centuries. It's in our blood.”

"Grab the granulated sugar from the cabinet, will ya, son? I'm thinking we'll make one batch sour loaves and one sweet bread."

Moving as instructed, the young man reached into the cabinet and plopped the bagged sugar on the counter near his father. He was a master at his craft, scooping just the right amount as he whisked the flour with a perfect flick of his wrist. Gaspard simply watched as his father frowned and added a touch more salt to the sweet batch.

"Salt and sweet can have a perfect relationship but-"

"But if one overpowers the other, everything will fall apart," the blond recited with a grin.

Dupain winked. "Exactly! You have to find that perfect balance between the two of them. Sometimes, when you want a sugar pastry, adding more salt to the mix makes the sweet stand out more. It's strange how that can work. And adding sugar to something like tomato pasta - well, it just brings out the salt of the tomatoes!"

"They pair together like magic!" Gaspard finished with a laugh.

"And like marriage…" his father chimed and glanced at Gaspard pointedly.

The boy immediately zipped his green gaze from his father's face and pretended to busy himself with checking on the yeast again. His pale skin raced with a hot blush.

A quiet chuckle escaping his throat, Marcus slapped Gaspard on the shoulder with a flouring poof and his son stumbled in surprise.

"No need to be bashful, son. You need to learn these things. Give and take. Knowing when is too much or when is too little. Learning her thoughts and feelings like a memorized recipe."

"Yeah, okay…" Gaspard mumbled, still blushing. He reached to scratch the back of his head nervously.

"Sure, the recipe changes from time to time, but only a little."

"Papa," Gaspard started with a pained look on his face. "Are you trying to compare girls to following a recipe?"

Now it was Marcus’s turn to blush, his cheeks growing cherry red. Continuing to whisk the flour into a soft powder, he stammered, "We-Well, I thought - I don't know - I had hoped that - I mean… you understand recipes, son. I wanted to bring a… what's it called?"

"Analogy?" Gaspard supplied.

"Yes! Something to compare it to. Something you'd understand."

Gaspard's stomach turned strangely as he watched his father fluster. A toss of pity for his old man made him smile.

He was trying so hard.

"I understand girls, Papa."

"I-I know! I know you probably do. I just wanted to - to help you. If you needed some help, that is. God knows I needed it back in the day when I was your age. How I got someone as lovely as your mother was a blessing."

"Didn't you make her the best Saint Honoré cakes she'd ever had?" Gaspard grinned.

"I did, indeed!" Dupain laughed. "Forget the fancy words, poetry, and flowers. I wooed your mother with cake."

"Wooed her with cake…" Gaspard repeated quietly, his green eyes growing serious for a moment. Taking a deep breath, the boy scooted the yeast pot over and Marcus nodded approvingly.

"Yeast has bloomed perfectly, my boy! Let's start kneading!"

************************

Solene was worried.

The maid had refused to say a word to her, remaining tight-lipped at every question Solene asked. Her stomach was twisting so hard with nervous fear, she felt nauseous. Her unanswered questions teetering off into silence, she let the corset tighten, her figure drown in a deep lavender gown, and her hair curl stylishly and was left to hang fashionably loose around her shoulders with lovely purple butterfly barrettes on either side. With the high collar of her bodice buckled at her throat, heeled slippers strapped to her stockings, and her voluminous skirts ruffled, she watched with surprise as the maid walked over to her bedside and snatched up her copy of Treasure Island.

"Wait! What are you doing?"

"You are no longer permitted to read unless instructed by your father," the maid said, finally answering a question. "Hurry down soon, Mademoiselle. Your guests will be arriving shortly."

Her eyes held a dust of pity as she hurried to the door. Solene's lips fell open as the door shut with a snap.

First, Marjoline… now her books…

Her heart hammered in her ears.

Her father wouldn't have… _couldn't_ have…

A red blur came forward, her large eyes worried. Solene backed away to sit on the bed, her disbelief keeping her from speaking.

"I-" the kwami started, but she stopped at the expression on Solene's face. Instead, she circled her head once before settling on her shoulder sadly. The girl raised her hand to gently pet Tikki on her head, her shock the only thing keeping the tears at bay.

************************

Marjoline's eyes were red from crying, her head pounded with a headache, and she clutched on her white apron as if it was her only hope. But… there wasn't any hope for her. She was too old to be a desirable hire for anyone. Sure, she had plenty of experience, but without a good reference, she wouldn't be able to prove her worth. Tonight was her last night to sleep with a roof over her head. Tomorrow morning, she'd have to fend for herself. Live on the streets. A beggar. She would never survive. Yes, summer had begun, but winter would soon follow. She could barely handle the cold in her joints inside a large house. Outside? All alone? No shelter?

Monsieur Montilyet had given her a death sentence.

"After all this time…" she whispered into her apron. "All this time serving them faithfully and I am thrown to the dogs… This is my ending..."

************************

“The guardian has the other Miraculous and is protecting himself. I’ll have to play this carefully.”

Violet Empereur frowned behind his grey mask, his eyes bright.

A maid in a high-class household. _Montilyet._

It might endanger _her_ , but it was worth it. Once he found the book and his powers grew, she’d understand his intentions.

She’d forgive him.

He felt the aged maid’s fear. Her burning rage frothing underneath the surface.

Holding out his hand, a white butterfly obediently came forward.

"Go, little one…"

The black and purple akuma flew off - the man’s dark will frothing within.

************************

Her tired eyes were closed. Her breathing still uneven, her tears had dried with stiff trails down her lined cheeks. Her hands still clutched her apron sharply.

She never saw the butterfly enter underneath the door. She never saw it fly towards her and fold into her lovely white apron.

And then she felt it - darkness. The hardness of her anger coming to the forefront of her mind.

"Lady Nightmares," a mysterious voice spoke from the darkness. "I am Violet Empereur and I have seen your plight. You have been thrown away by those you have selflessly served. I am giving you the chance to take revenge on those who have wronged you. You can put anyone you want to sleep with only their nightmares for company. They shall sleep forever. Then this grand house will be yours. You shall be Dame de la Maison!"

"A dream is a wish my heart makes..." she whispered with a terrible grin.

************************

Gaspard sighed and collapsed on his bed. Smelling of bread and crusted in dusty flour, he closed his eyes tiredly and smiled. After two full hours of mixing and kneading, the bread had to rise before it could be sliced into loafs. Taking the time to rest, he kicked off his shoes and felt himself start to doze.

A strangely tight feeling suddenly sprouted in his stomach. Turning over on the pillow, he ignored it.

"Kid! Hey, kid!"

"Noooo…" Gaspard groaned. "You have enough cheese, Plagg."

"First of all: there is never enough cheese. And second: there's an akuma!"

All fatigue left as the blond sat up sharply and his forehead almost collided with the black kwami.

The tightness swirled harder inside him and he placed a hand on his stomach.

"An akuma? Like the monster from yesterday?"

The black cat nodded, his green pupils narrow. "As much as I don't wanna go, I can't feel Coccinelle yet."

"What do you mean 'you can't feel her'?"

Plagg's pupils widened only a millimeter. "She probably hasn't transformed. I have a weird feeling about this..."

Jumping from the bed, he glanced at his ring.

"Alright. I guess I'll be the first one there this time. _Transformez-moi!_ "

The transformation was like before. His flour-covered clothing washed away and was replaced by the thick ebony coat that draped down to his knees. Dark gloves covered his fingers and extended slightly with claws. A black mask spread over his cheeks, and his blond hair fell over his eyes as two cat ears appeared on his head. Instantly, his eyesight, hearing, and sense of smell were sharpened. Thick steel boots covered his worn shoes and he tossed the belt at his waist like a twitchy tail full of nerves.

He could feel the akuma clearer now, its dark powers quite a way from the bakery. Crossing his room immediately, he grabbed the metal staff at his back and jumped out the window into the darkening sky.

************************

Tikki rushed from the pillow she was resting on, her senses sharply ringing.

Akuma! And it was close! In the house!

"Oh, no! Solene!" she cried, but before she could rush out the window to find her friend, two young maids raced into the bedroom. Slipping into the vanity drawer, she watched through the keyhole as they started barricading the door with Solene's heavy furniture. When the two nightstands and her writing table were shoved against it, they collapsed together in a heap - weeping and hugging.

"D-do you th-think we are going to d-die?" One of them sniffled.

The other one was stronger, holding her fellow maid tightly. "I don't know. If those heroes from the Tower come, we might just make it. We just have to stay here."

Panic raced through the kwami. Solene was down there!

She was in trouble!

************************

Solene forced herself to smile at Claudette's chirping gossip. Her ears catching only twenty percent of what the girl was saying, she fell back to her usual one-word answers as they sat together in the meeting parlor. Her father, motioning to a maid serving h'orderves, was speaking gallantly to Claudette's mother and father; all the anger of their fight that morning erased by the grace of aristocratical breeding.

Back straight, head high, and blond hair wrapped in lovely curls, Claudette's blue eyes practically clawed all over Solene's light purple dress and barrettes.

"I told everyone about it after you left the Expo! Even Bernard, who showed up later, expressed concern for your health. It makes me wonder if he actually does have some feelings for you! I mean, that could be possible because his family contributed much to the Eiffel Tower's construction as well and your social standing is on par with his. But he hasn't seen you since the Winter Ball. That was so long ago, and - I'm sorry to tell you this, but as a good friend, I must insist - you are getting a tan. You should avoid the sun in every way you can. I can already see the wrinkles-"

The explosion from the entrance-way jolted the couch and tossed both girls to the ground in a spread of petticoats. Teacup flying and shattering, Claudette's blue eyes danced wildly to the door behind her and Solene followed her gaze with shock.

An older woman, her skin paler than death and her grey hair spiraled up like a tornado, was gliding into the parlor. She floated like a banshee, smoothing her wrinkled hands over a mid-century silk, black dress. Solene noticed she wore a torn, yellowing apron over it. The monster's violently purple eyes traced over the room with her head tilted unnaturally. Madam Bourgeois screamed and Claudette dove underneath the coffee table.

Violet eyes landing on Solene’s father, the monster glided like a phantom towards him.

"No! Father! Run away!" Solene cried, but it was as if he was in a trance. The akuma, her face suddenly malicious, leaned towards him and he blinked slowly up at her.

"You blame me for your brat's shortcomings? You turned me away without another thought? After all that I've done for you? After all that I've sacrificed? You shall pay for that, Montilyet! You shall repeat the worst moments of your life forever! Sleep now, you insolent fool!" the akuma snarled, touching the side of his face with her finger.

Solene could only watch in horror as her father's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell to the carpet. Then the violet gaze turned on her.

Panic rushing and adrenaline racing through her veins, the raven-haired girl struggled to back away, her feet catching uselessly on the hem of her thick dress.

"Tikki…" she whispered, her breath escaping in short gasps. "Tikki… come..."

"No one will save you," the woman said slowly, gliding her way across the room. "Like you wouldn't save me. You are a lazy brat. Just like your father. After all I've done for this wretched family, you were the one who hurt me the most. I loved you, Solene. But you betrayed me…"

The grey hair, her voice - "Marjoline?" Solene breathed. "Is that you?"

"Silence! I am Lady Nightmares! The Dame de la Maison! This house is mine! And I demand the respect I deserve!"

It was with an unnatural speed, the woman closed in on Solene, leaning forward to stroke her cheek. She was frozen, her limbs like blocks of ice. She tried to move away, but she couldn't.

"Oh, my dear," Marjoline cooed. "So sweet. So beautiful. Too bad you're not your mother. If only she'd lived and you'd died. How much happier everyone else would be."

With those words, a blackness fell over Solene's eyes and she collapsed to the ground.

************************

Tikki was too late. She saw it through the window. The akuma had overpowered Solene. Thankfully, her raven hair had fallen to cover her earlobes.

Her secret identity was safe - for now.

Tikki watched as the akuma moved on, her sharp gaze flowing to the terrified Bourgeois family. It was less than a second later, they were all put under the spell - fast asleep on the floor.

Dark laughter escaped the akuma and Tikki's heart clenched with fear.

Suddenly, a moving shadow caught her eye and she yelped before diving underneath a nearby tree branch to hide.

The black cat had come.


	7. Lady Nightmares Part 3

_She was there, but then… she wasn't._ _  
_ _  
_ _Drifting through the shadows of her home, Solene's eyes glanced at the portraits that hung in the dining hall - the large living room - the grand staircase - and there were only two faces she saw within the portraits. Her father’s thin stoicness and - her stomach lurched - the happy, chocolate brown eyes of her beloved mother._

 _Entering the front foyer, there was the sound of the front door opening and Solene's heart lifted as her father - younger and happier - rushed through the entrance. Her arms opening to hug him, he ran through her as if she were nothing but an invisible spirit. He took the grand staircase golden steps two at a time to meet a black-haired woman standing behind her._ _  
_ _  
_ _Her father grab her by the waist to spin her gaily. The merry brown eyes sparkled as her navy skirts tossed in the air. Her hair, wrapped in a thick dark bun, fell slightly as her father set her mother on her feet and planted a passionate kiss on her lips._ _  
_ _  
_ _Solene pressed a hand to her clenching heart._

_A deep want flooded her. A need for those wonderful arms to wrap around her and hold her close._

_Her mother… She was alive…_

_Where had she been all this time?_ _  
_ _  
_ _"Mother!" Solene called._ _  
_ _  
_ _Their lips separated, but only to smile loving at each other._

 _It was as if she didn't exist. As if she was nothing. And… they were happier because of it._ _  
_ _  
_ _Her father was smiling - when was the last time she'd seen him smile?_ _  
_ _  
_ _Her knees gave out and she fell on the entrance rug with bitter realization. Hands rose to press against her face._ _  
_ _  
_ _"I am a waste."_ _  
_  
_The words rang cold and true as they unwillingly left her lips.  
  
_

_***************************  
  
_

Chat’s sharp eyes narrowing, he jumped to land near the front lower window. There wasn’t an akuma, but - his gaze caught a familiar raven hue and his heart clenched. Without another thought, he ran to the front of the house, burst through the door, and bolted into the room.  
  
He rubbed his eyes behind his mask, but… but it was real. _She_ was real.  
  
The beautiful girl from the Expo.  
  
Her hair spread like a halo, her lavender dress crumbled, and her eyes closed, she looked like she'd fallen straight from Coccinelle's fairy tale. Chat took slow steps towards her; his gaze slipping back to the doorway the monster had disappeared through. His hearing was sharpened, but all was silent in the house. Eyes roaming back to the lovely girl lying on the Persian rug, he finally noticed others around her - another young girl with blonde hair and three adults. Coming forward and kneeling down on one knee, Chat watched her chest rise and fall with relief - and a blush.  
  
Breathing. She was asleep?  
  
What happened?  
  
Clawed hand trembling slightly, he touched the girl's limp arm and gently shook her. "Hey, Mademoiselle. Wake up."  
  
She neither stirred nor fluttered an eyelid. Brushing a hand through his unruly locks, his mind raced for an idea.  
  
"I need to get her out of here,” he reasoned. “We have to wait for Coccinelle. She'll set this right."

With a quick exhale through his lips, Chat gently lifted her shoulders from the floor and scooped behind her knees. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore how wonderful she felt cradled in his arms. Her head resting on his heart, he was glad she couldn't hear it racing underneath his black coat.

His enhanced sense of smell caught perfume and a touch of something sweet coming from her. It reminded him of the cookies they sold at the bakery.  
  
A scream from a room upstairs made his tail straighten and a shiver of fear run down his spine. Racing out the parlor and through the front door, he held her close as he ran down the gravel walkway. Skidding to a halt, his night-vision clicked on to perceive a pathway to the right through tall manicured shrubs. Chat hurried before coming to a large, thick oak tree. Resting her against the trunk, the girl was hidden from the view of the house. At least she'd be safe for the time being.  
  
But what to do now? Wait for Coccinelle? Plagg could obviously sense the ladybug, but Chat couldn't feel anything - except for his warm joy at seeing the Expo girl again. Should he transform back to see if Plagg felt anything? Should he go in there by himself to face the monster without her?  
  
He groaned.

Where was she?

His tail twitching and his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck nervously, he looked back to the sleeping girl.  
  
_'Sleeping Beauty,'_ The image of Coccinelle brushed forward, her booted legs kicking back and forth as she perched on his roof, _'...only a kiss from her true love can break it and wake her up…'_ _  
_  
"Uh..." Lowering his hand from his neck, Chat looked at the lovely woman and felt his stomach twist in that strange good way again. She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered from the Expo. Her hair was unbound and longer than he thought - falling to her upper waist. Her lips were cherry and looked incredibly soft. A wash of heat flushed from his ears to his toes as he glanced at them.

A kiss from true love - could it be possible…?  
  
_Oh, Dieu, was he really going to do this?_ _  
_  
"It's… it's to try and wake her up. Just-just so she can tell me what's going on. That way I can let Coccinelle know and we can stop the akuma."

With that fragile excuse giving him courage, he tenderly wrapped his arm around her shoulders - her hair was thick and soft - and scooted closer to her on the grass. The sweet smell was even stronger as his shaking clawed fingers slipped to her thin waist to pull her close. Her head fell back on the crook of his arm, her body draping in his lap.

He lowered his face and took another deep inhale of her scent.

She smelled like home.  
  
Chat pinched his eyes shut and brushed his lips on hers.  


_****************************_

_  
_ _She watched as if a phantom. A forgotten ghost within the halls. She was back on the staircase now. Her parents were playing with a small child - a son. He had black hair and the same blue eyes like her father. Like her._ _  
_ _  
_ _Her mother's perfect laugh. Her father's proud smile._

_The child's delighted giggles._

_Their child…_

_The staircase suddenly collapsed under her feet and Solene closed her eyes with relief as the vision washed away. Falling backwards slowly, the darkness enveloped her like a hug._ _  
_ _  
_ _Which suddenly turned into arms holding her tightly._ _  
_ _  
_ _A warm breath on her cheek._ _  
_ _  
_ _A pressure on her mouth-_ _  
  
_

_****************************_  
  
  
It was like a thunderclap in his head.  
  
He was kissing her. She was sleeping and he was kissing her. All because of a fairy tale that Coccinelle had told him. All because it was the only thing he could think of. His heart hammered, his thoughts soared, and his hands tightened a little more, holding her closer to his chest. This was unbelievable. And stupid. And ridiculous. He was a simple baker and she was a high-class lady and he was kissing her. He didn't even know her name and he knew she didn't know his and he was kissing her. He was practically half-cat right now and she was asleep - unaware of what was happening to her - and he was kissing her.  
  
He didn't even know if this would work and he was _still_ kissing -  
  
With a gasp of something akin to fear, he felt her shoulder twitch against his chest and his lips left hers. He watched as her eyes stirred underneath her eyelids. Slowly, carefully, the lovely bluebell opened and she looked at him with wonder.

Her mouth - which he wasn't staring at - opened slightly in surprise.  
  
"Are-Are you alright," he croaked out. Hot embarrassment tossed through him.  
  
She was speechless, her gaze focused on his eyes before trailing to his mouth. His throat made a weird noise. Realizing he was still holding her in his arms, he gently rested her against the tree and immediately put some distance between them. His tail thrashed nervously, whipping a small brush behind him.  
  
"Wh-What happened?" she asked softly, her cheeks blushing with confusion. Then she glanced around wildly. "Why am I outside? Why are you-?" And then her blue eyes widened. "My father! Marjoline!"  
  
"Hold on. Easy. You just woke up."

He held a hand out for her and they stood up together. Her fingers tightened on his and his heart hammered in his ears.  
  
"You have to save them! Marjoline! She's not in her right mind! It's not her fault!"  
  
"She's the akuma?"  
  
The girl nodded tightly before her gaze slipped down to where she held his hands. With a light, charming gasp, she let go and jumped back. He was so focused on the warmth of her fingers still seeping through his gloves, Chat missed her hitting the tree with her elbow and the hiss of pain that followed.  
  
"You need to stay out of sight. Go find a place to hide. I'll see if I can save anyone else." He nodded to her importantly.

Gaze slipping back to her lips, he swallowed down the tight thrill that swam inside him.  
  
He'd actually kissed her! The girl of his dreams! He kissed her and woke her up!

True love… did that mean-?  
  
"Please be careful. There's something about her eyes. Don't look at them. It's like she can freeze you on the spot. She puts you to sleep by touching you. And… and don't hurt her. She's precious to me," she said softly, her hands clasping elegantly in front of her dress.  
  
"I'll save her. Don't worry."  
  
With a smile that might have been a bit too wide for simple reassurance, he slipped around the tree and hurried back to the front door.  


_****************************_  
  
  
Solene watched him disappear before leaning back on the large oak. Pressing a hand to her tight corseted stomach, she felt woozy and nauseous and-and… _wonderful_.

Even before she'd opened her eyes, Solene had felt herself in a tight embrace. An arm holding her steady, a hand pressing against the small of her back. Her eyes had opened to the handsome face of Chat. His messy blond hair falling into his gorgeous green eyes. Those cat ears perked up.

His mouth so close to her own...  
  
A small squeal escaped her lips and she buried her face in her hands. Had he really just…? Or was she still dreaming? Shivers of delight raced down her spine and her cheeks blushed brightly.  
  
Had he kissed her and she woke up? Like… like Sleeping Beauty? Like true lo-  
  
"Solene!" A wonderful chirping voice called down to her from the tree. "Oh, Solene! You're okay!"  
  
"Tikki!" she cried as the red kwami circled her head once before nuzzling her cheek. "Y-yeah, I'm awake! But I gotta help Chat!"  
  
Just saying his name brought another tight blush to her cheeks. Pushing aside her giddiness, she decided she would reflect obsessively on all that happened later. Right now, she had a job to do!  
  
"Tikki! Time to save Marjoline! _Transformez-moi!_ "  
  
  
***********************

  
His heart thundering, mind racing, adrenaline pumping, Chat hurried through the front door once more and stopped in the entrance hall to listen for any movement in the house. She had said the akuma put people to sleep by touching them - and he'd woken her up by kissing her! He let out a small, disbelieving laugh before shaking his head to focus. Now was not the time to think about it. Though he would have to find some way of thanking Coccinelle for giving him the wonderful idea though.  
  
Eyes slipping to the glittering grand staircase, he only gave himself a second to admire its beauty before a hitch in his stomach told him the akuma was on the second floor. Racing up the stairs and turning to the left, he entered a large dining hall. It was terrifyingly dark - all the candles snuffed out. His night vision kicked in. He entered the room and slipped silently around the long table, pricking his feline hearing for any sign of the akuma.  
  
Suddenly, a brush of panic slice through him and he instinctively jumped forward just as a thin hand reached out to grab him from behind. He turned around and almost tripped on his tail. If there was a monster from his nightmares, she would be it. Grey hair swirled like a storm, she was grinning sickly at him with lips like pale death. The akuma was a phantom, floating in the air.

No wonder he hadn't heard her approach.  
  
He looked into her violet eyes and felt his limbs freeze, paralyzed with fear. The warning the girl had given him struck his brain and he cursed with unmoving lips.  
  
"My, my, how unlucky for a black cat to stumble into my house." Her gravelly voice was like nails on a chalkboard. The akuma reached out inches away from his cheek -  
  
A red and black spotted yoyo suddenly slipped around the monster's outstretched hand.  
  
With a yelp, the monster was yanked up and away from him - the string of the yoyo tossing over a large chandelier over the dining table. Her hand caught, the akuma snarled as a familiar tan hat leaped forward to stand beside him.  
  
"Hands off my kitty!" Coccinelle crowed, pulling the string tighter. The monster's feet dangling over the long table, she glanced up at Chat with a cheeky look, but an unexpected blush flushed her cheeks as his eyes met hers.  
  
"Good timing," Chat gasped, feeling his limbs waking as if doused in warm water. "She almost got me. Where have you been?"  
  
"Got lost on the way here," she answered vaguely, stepping forward as if to shield him from the trapped akuma.  
  
"She can put you to sleep by touching you, so don't let her get close. Also, she can freeze you on the spot with her eyes. Don't look at them."  
  
"Aw, but she looks so cuddly!"  
  
The monster began to laugh. Focusing on the yellow, stained apron tied around the akuma's waist, Chat watched out of the corner of his eye as the yoyo's string began to phase through her swarthy skin.  
  
"You think you caught me? I am Lady Nightmares! I rule this house!"  
  
"Uh, oh - that's not good…" Coccinelle mumbled, her blue eyes looking over the akuma's shoulder to avoid the violet gaze. She zipped the yoyo back into her hand and shot Chat a panicked look as the monster cackled again.

"You didn't tell me she could phase through objects!"  
  
"This is news to me as well!"  
  
"I guess we'll have to think of something else besides catching her with metal poles at the Tower, eh?"  
  
As the akuma began to advance again - both arms outstretched and an unearthly banshee shriek leaving her throat - both heroes raced out the side door and past a second living room. She was fast, her shrills just behind their backs.  
  
"What now?" Chat shouted, his panicked mind drawing a blank. Leaping over a coffee table and vaulting over a loveseat, they backed away against a window. "We can't touch her, we can't look at her, and we can't trap her."  
  
"Hang on! I have an idea, tiger!" Coccinelle announced beside him and her rapier slashed out of its scabbard.  
  
"Coccinelle, wait!" He cried, taking out his metal staff. Chat watched with a tight mixture of awe and horror gathering in his chest as the ladybug flung her yoyo at the dark fireplace across the large room and it caught on the overlaying grate. Flipping over the sofa and zipping through the air, she slipped right underneath the banshee's outstretched hand and her sword swung down to slash at something on the akuma's right foot. The buckle of her right shoe broke and fell to the ground with a solid thump on the carpet. Swinging upward, the girl landed on top of a china cabinet as the akuma glanced down with a confused look.  
  
"You cut my shoe off..."  
  
"You cut her shoe off?" Chat repeated dumbly, his mind unable to comprehend.  
  
Coccinelle scowled at him from the china cabinet. "I thought the akuma would be there! She's all floating and ghostly and stuff! I don't know! It made sense in my head!"  
  
"In what universe would that make any sense!?"  
  
She scoffed angrily. "I don't see you having any bright ideas! What happened to that feline instinct from yesterday!?"  
  
As if in slow motion, he watched Lady Nightmares brushed forward, using their argument as a distraction. She soared through the air with spindle fingers extended to grab Coccinelle.

Green eyes dancing, Chat spied a vase of flowers on the coffee table and reacted without thinking. Launching over the sofa, he snatched the vase and hurled it as hard as he could against the akuma's back.

Flowers, shards of vase, and water burst over the monster and she shrieked. Water droplets hissing on her thin skin. Coccinelle slung her yoyo just in time to slip by her fingertips and landed beautifully next to him.  
  
"Good save!"  
  
"Just payback for earlier."  
  
"I got your back, you got mine! That's how it works, partner!" She grinned with a wink. "And you gave me another idea!"  
  
"We're not cutting off her other shoe, are we?" He called out as she snatched his clawed hand and yanked him out of the room. She was fast for a girl, slipping through room after room. The chill of the raging akuma on his back, he saw Coccinelle raise a hand to knock a wooden sconce hanging on the wall and - in front of her - a portion of the wall popped open.  
  
"A secret passage!?" he shouted as she burst through the doorway. It was a dark, musty spiral staircase.  
  
"It's a servant's door! This leads to the back gardens! We'll have more there!"  
  
"More what?" Chat panted.  
  
"Water!" She called over her shoulder as they thundered down the metal steps together. Coccinelle jumped over the rail and fell the rest of the way to the ground floor. She turned to the left and kicked a door down. Chat, with his heightened sense of smell, immediately caught the mulchy scent of plants. Feeling the icy chill of the akuma practically on his neck, he leapt over the rail to follow her and they hurried together though an artistic array of shrubs and flowering plants.

Limestone statues lined the pathway. Twilight had already fallen, the world darkening around them. Stopping at a large empty fountain, both heroes panted as the akuma followed, her violet eyes shimmering with delight.  
  
Coccinelle growled at the fountain. "I thought it'd be working!"  
  
"How did you even know it was here?"  
  
"Saw it out the window earlier!" She brushed off his question with a wave of her hand.  
  
The akuma growled, unamused. "Hoping to douse me in water, are you?"  
  
"You do need a bath! Just look at the monster stains on that apron!" Coccinelle's blue eyes grew wide behind her red domino mask and she grabbed Chat's arm tightly. " _Apron_! The akuma is in her apron!"  
  
"Are you _sure_ it's not in her other shoe?" He smirked and she scowled up at him.  
  
"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?"  
  
They dodged - Chat left, Coccinelle right - as the monster snarled and reached for them. She followed Coccinelle, her rage spilling in a loud shriek. Turning swiftly, he watched in horror as the ladybug swiveled on foot and dodged the akuma's reach just in time. Her sword swished out of the scabbard and sliced through the apron strings - only to pass through as if swiping air.  
  
"I can't cut it!" Coccinelle ducked the spindly fingers and continued to run. "My sword phased through!"  
  
"You could try her other shoe!" He grinned at her and she shot him a glare as the monster started chasing her again.  
  
"Cut it out, will you!? I need something! Something to make her dense! If only the fountain was working!"  
  
Wait.  
  
Chat glanced at the fountain to his ring with an idea ringing in his head. Before he could question it, he clenched his right hand and flexed his fingers. "Cataclysm!"  
  
"What are you doing?" Coccinelle called out as she ran around a marble statue with the akuma hot on her heels.  
  
"You said you needed water! Here you go!"  
  
Leaping forward with the grace of a feline, he landed on the fountain's top and slammed his palm on the empty spigot. The concrete hissed, crumbling inward before eating away to the piping below. A violent shower of water burst from the broken fountain and Chat cried out as his entire body was instantly soaked. The akuma stopped, her violet eyes growing wide with panic. Jumping down from the fountain, he brushed his wet locks out of his green eyes and flashed the ladybug a proud grin.  
  
"See if the akuma wants to touch me now!"  
  
Coccinelle slid on the wet lawn to join him with a panting smile, the water drenching her as well. She lightly punched Chat’s arm, red feather on her hat dripping.

"And I thought cats hated water."

The akuma immediately stopped and glided back a few meters to avoid the spouting water. A purple shadow, much like the one that had appeared on Flower Petal, slipped over the akuma's face and her lips scowled darkly. It was as if she was listening to a voice in her head.

Suddenly, she shouted, "This house is mine, Violet Empereur! I care not for your lost book nor these fools! I will not be a servant any longer! Not to you! Not to anyone!"

"Too bad we're not done!" Coccinelle cried out. "Lucky Charm!"  


_****************************_  
  
  
The magic swirled around her yoyo and both heroes stared at a heavy, red and black spotted gramophone in her hands. Her blue eyes catching Chat's, he shrugged.  
  
"A gramophone?" She frowned. “Think the akuma would fancy a waltz?"  
  
"Probably not the dancing type. Whatever that's for, you need to do it quickly! She's escaping!" Chat pointed towards the house and Coccinelle felt her heart clench. Just like before, it was as if time slowed down. Blue eyes danced to her yoyo, to the fountain, to the gramophone.  
  
"Chat, you might want to get out of the way!" She warned before flinging her yoyo forward. It wrapped around the akuma's body and violently yanked her back from the open doorway. She could feel the confusion radiating off of him as he stumbled away from her.  
  
"What are you doing!? She can just phase through!"  
  
"She was trapped for a few seconds in the dining hall, remember?! Just trust me!"  
  
As the akuma came barreling towards her wrapped in the yoyo strings, Coccinelle leaped to the fountain's gushing top. Slamming the bottom of the gramophone down on the spraying water, Solene directed the opening towards the akuma and water shot like a faucet.  
  
"No! _No_ !" Lady Nightmares shrieked as she tumbled to the fountain's edge and was doused from head to foot. The water made the akuma denser - heavier. She no longer floated, but sloped to the ground - heavy and soaking, tangled in the yoyo. She wasn't able to faze through the string.  
  
Leaping off the fountain and hurrying forward with her rapier drawn, Solene expertly swiped at the dirty apron - slicing the cloth off the akuma's body.  
  
And there it was. The purple and black butterfly.  
  
Slipping her yoyo off the akuma and flicking it open, she whipped it through the air and snapped the akuma inside. Chat ran forward to help Marjoline to her feet as she released the newly purified white butterfly back into the sky. Glancing at the small old woman, Coccinelle let out a cry of relief.  
  
Marjoline was back to normal - her pristine apron tied securely around her waist and the grey hair wisping at her temples...

Coccinelle caught herself just before she blindly ran into Marjoline's arms.  
  
_I'm not Solene right now…_

Her heart clenched as she saw the maid stumble and Chat caught her thin shoulders to settle her.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked gently.  
  
"What's going on?" Her wizened voice was like a knife in Coccinelle’s heart.  
  
"You were possessed."  
  
Keeping down the rock that had somehow formed in her throat, Coccinelle slung her yoyo around a tree branch and was tossed high over the treetops. She snatched the gramophone from the spraying fountain.  
  
"Miraculous Ladybug!"  
  
Her powers were instantly active - shimmering over a newly patched fountain, spreading like a wave to her house. Coccinelle felt her clothes drying as the magic washed over her as well.  
  
Flipping over Chat's head, she stumbled her landing on the grass.  
  
"Heh, see? Looks like everything is fixed," she announced with an awkward chuckle. Turning to look at Chat, her blue eyes avoiding Marjoline's awestruck expression, she noticed his handsome face was brushed with concern.  
  
"Coccinelle, are you okay-"  
  
"I better go now because… because I need to go. Right now." There was a small chirp in her ear. "See? Transforming! We can't know each other's identity! You should go, too! Far away from here! Like I will be! Bye, tiger!"  
  
"Coccinelle, wait!" Chat's voice called after her as she threw her yoyo to the rooftop of her house and flew over the mansion. Slipping over the front pathway and to the large oak, her boots thumped on the ground and she braced a gloved hand against the steady tree.  
  
She was shaking.  
  
Marjoline. Of all people, Marjoline had been possessed. How was that possible? What had happened to her? Her dearest friend had called her a spoiled brat. Had attacked her family.  
  
_Violet Empereur…_

That was what Marjoline had said when she spoke to the purple mask. Was that the one who made her a monster? Was that who the akumas came from? A tight burn hit her chest and her fist hit the oak.

The earrings chirped again and she sighed, " _De-transformation_ ," to let the power fall away. Tikki hovered into view before dropping on her shoulder.

Solene's eyes lowered to her fragile slippers and a wash of hard anger crested over her heart.  
  
"You did it…" the kwami smiled tiredly, not seeing her face.  
  
"We did it," Solene corrected, flicking on her simple smile to cover her inner turmoil. She grabbed her thick skirts to maneuver over the oak's large roots.

"You need to hide, Tikki. Can you get back into the room where the cookies are?"

"There were two maids hiding in your room when the akuma first appeared," Tikki said softly looking worried.  
  
"Everything should be put back in place with magic, right? They probably aren't there anymore."  
  
"I'll hide in the vanity just in case." The kwami floated before turning back to her. "You did well tonight, Solene. I… I was very worried about you. Chat was able to wake you up, thankfully."  
  
"Ha-aha…" The awkward laugh escaped as she suddenly remembered his embrace - the tender way he'd held her.

That's right… he'd kissed her and woken her from the spell.  
  
And that meant-  
  
Her face grew hot and Tikki smiled at her innocently.  
  
"He's a good partner."  
  
"A handsome partner," Solene felt her lips starting to tug into her cheeky grin, "and my future husband."  
  
Tikki giggled and shook her tiny head before heading back up to the house. The cheekiness drained out of Solene as she watched the kwami zip to disappear into her window. Squaring her shoulders, she reluctantly stepped out to the pathway back to the front door.  
  
"Mademoiselle!"  
  
Her heart hitched in her chest at the voice. Looking up, the black shadow landed just several feet in front of her - blond hair flicking over his brilliant green eyes.


	8. Lady Nightmares Part 4

"Coccinelle, wait!" Chat shouted, but she was already flying over the large house and into the cloudy night sky.

His ring bleeped a warning at him and he watched as the second green paw on his ring disappeared. Turning to the old woman on his arm, he looked her over once more. She was blinking, her mind obviously having trouble putting the pieces together.

"I've got to leave you here, Madame."

"I was in my room earlier and now I'm… but who was that young girl? Coccinelle?" Slowly, her dark eyes flicked to Chat and her mouth dropped open as if truly seeing him for the first time.

"Who are you, young man!? You have ears on your head like a kitten! Are they real?"

"My name is Chat-" his lips curling into a gentle smile, "-I hope whatever has happened to you that you'll forgive the girl in the purple dress."

"The girl in the purple dress?" She repeated bewildered, the wisps of her grey hair fluttering in her confusion. "What girl? Do you mean Solene?"

His green eyes widened behind his mask. Heat snaked up the back of his neck. " _Solene…_ is that her name? The one with the dark hair and blue eyes?"

“Yes, that’s her.”

Remembering the closeness of her lips, her lovely blue eyes slowly opening, her soft hair falling over his arm - his cheeks unknowingly blushed and Marjoline's eyes narrowed perceptively.

Another chirp on his ring woke him from the sweet memory and he stepped back, reaching for his staff.

"If you'll excuse me-"

"Young man! Chat!" She grabbed his arm and he looked down at her curiously.

"Solene… what is she to you?"

His heart sprinting a mile, his stomach churning, and his breath catching in his throat, he suddenly felt as if his entire tongue was made of lead. Opening and closing his mouth, his brain tried to formulate a proper reply. As he continued to stare, muted like a fish, the old maid's lips curled up with a knowing grin.

" _Interesting…_ " she murmured before letting him go.

Backing away and tripping only once, Chat nodded awkwardly before leaping into the sky and catapulting over the rooftop with his staff-

Only to see the girl - Solene - hurrying to her front door. His heart lurched and a brush of excitement ran down his spine.

"Mademoiselle!" He called, landing in front of her on the pathway. Watching her jump back with surprise, he straightened with a large smile. "I'm glad you are safe."

"Yes-yes, I hid just like you told me to." She glanced down shyly before flicking those brilliant eyes up at him.

Chat’s gaze flicked to her lips - which she was starting to bite down on - and he swallowed tightly in his throat.

"I am… I am happy to report fixed that is everything. I _mean-_ " he grimaced, "-that everything is fixed. Your Marjoline is back to normal and so should everyone - everything in your house."

He knew his cheeks were tomato red and wanted to bury his face in his hands. Oh, Dieu...

"What a relief. Thank you, tig-ahhh…" she stopped and blushed prettily. "Thank you - uh, brave cat-man."

"Just 'Chat' is fine," he laughed and then his ring chirped. Both their eyes flicked to his hand. Gaspard cleared his throat and gave her a deep bow. "I better go. Until next time we meet... Mademoiselle Solene."

Her breath caught in her throat and her lips fell open in surprise as he quickly extended his staff and catapulted into the sky.

****************************

He knew her name…

Chat knew her name…

How did he find out?

Still love-struck, Solene stumbled through the front door - and her delight was instantly washed away to a shiver of unease. The Bourgeois were gathered in a corner of the parlor, whispering tensely to each other.

Her father was awake; perched on the white sofa with his brown hair a mess on his head. Face in his hands, he looked like a defeated soldier. Hurrying from the door, she ran to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

His shoulders stiffen at her touch.

"Solene..." he said tensely. "There you are. You mustn't wander when we have guests."

He lifted his hands - she thought to return the hug - but he pried her arms off of him, pushing her away.

The disappointment stung hard and painful.

"She wasn't wandering! She was asleep! We were all asleep, Monsieur Montilyet!" Claudette's cry snapped in the air. "There was a monster in your house! It attacked us!"

"I don't remember a monster," he mumbled, standing from the couch.

Solene backed away from him, the memory of her nightmare brushing horrifically over her: _she was a useless Montilyet - never following his orders –_

__Life would be better if she were dead._ _

“I don’t remember one either,” she said swiftly, catching her father’s eye.

Monsieur Bourgeois' lower growl jumped in. "I assure you, Montilyet, there was a phantom of a woman! She came at us like she was going to kill us! Did you invite us here to have us slaughtered!? I dreamed… I _dreamed…_ "

The grown man began to weep.

"Oh, dearest," Claudette's mother cooed, wrapping her arms around her crying husband. Shooting both Montilyets a glare over her shoulder, Madame Bourgeois began pulling him from the parlor and to the front door. "I believe this disastrous dinner party is officially over! What a disgrace this night has become! If you ever decide to hold another party again, we will make sure to lose our invitation!"

Her father's spine was ramrod straight as they passed him. Not a flicker of emotion crossing his face.

Claudette followed her parents, her light blue eyes holding a haunted look. She stopped just as she neared Solene and her hand suddenly snatched the raven's arm in a painful squeeze.

Solene gasped.

"If you think I'd let Bernard Abelin marry you, you are _dead wrong_! He is mine! Even if he is in love with you, he won't be for long when he hears about what happened tonight! I'll make sure our entire circle knows how you treat guests in your home!"

Shaking the blonde girl's grip off her, Solene shot her a haughty glare of her own, but her rebuttal twisted on her tongue.

Night was in full bloom as the Bourgeois venomently excused themselves out the front door. Her father, following them out to their carriage like any great host, was silent as their muttering insults continued to spew forth. Standing at the doorway with her heart in her stomach, Solene caught the lost look in her father's eye as their carriage left down the driveway and hurried into the busy streets of Paris. Turning, he met her gaze and, for a split second, there was a small vulnerability in his eyes.

A weariness that she knew only too well.

As quickly as it came, it left - hidden behind iron.

Following him back into the house, maids and manservants were beginning to file into the front parlor now that the guests were gone; down the stairs, or around back from the kitchens. They looked to her father - their expressions in various stages of fear. A wisp of white hair appeared around the doorway to the kitchens and Solene saw Marjoline's lined face grow more wizened behind the crowd.

"Sir-" one of the manservants spoke up, "-what happened tonight? Is the monster truly gone? Or did it even exist…? I remember… I remember packing to leave for the night and suddenly, I was dreaming… such terrible things…"

"I did, too… my mother… she died over and over." A girl whimpered into her hands.

"I dreamed I lost parts of my limbs."

"I was on fire."

"Spiders… spiders, everywhere…"

"Whatever has occurred tonight will never happen again, I assure you," her father said, his voice peppered with reassurance.

"Sir," a pretty maid broke in with her cheeks flaming, "I wasn't caught by the monster. I was in the upstairs library when the attack started and I hid there, but… but I saw-I saw out the window a man dressed as like a black cat and a girl in a short red dress with a hat covering her face. They led the monster out of the house and into the gardens and turned her back into Marjoline! She was the one who attacked us! Is this true?"

There was a collective gasp as the old maid slinked into the shadows with her face in her hands. All eyes turned to her and Solene was about to step forward to speak.

"This never happened.” Demetri Montilyet said the words with so much authority, the maid squeaked and ducked behind a tall manservant. “There was never a monster. Tonight shall never be mentioned again. Please note I will raise each one of your wages for the rest of the month to compensate for your discretion. However, if I hear of any rumors spreading around of this so-called monster, I will make sure whomever started the rumor will never find another position in France again."

The threat was as real and scary as the monster had been. Solene gazed on each face and saw similar expressions of curiosity and fear.

"If there are any more concerns, please see your head of staff for clarification."

With that said, the servants parted to let him walk up the staircase. Suddenly, he stopped and turned back to catch Solene's eye.

"Before I forget, there might also be another rumor that Marjoline was dismissed from her position earlier this afternoon. I want to clear the air and assure you that Marjoline has served this house faithfully and will _continue_ to do so until she leaves of her own volition."

A gasp of relief escaped Solene's lungs and she felt her eyes burn with tears of gratitude. Pushing them back, she followed the crowd as they all turned to look at the old maid again. Her chocolate eyes wide and her thin lips trembling, Marjoline looked on the verge of tears as well.

"That is all."

Montilyet turned briskly and continued up the stairs. They waited - Solene, included - as the footsteps resounded on the second floor and the distant bang of his office door shutting washed over the entire house.

Then, the whispers broke out amongst them all.

"We can't talk about it?"

"Why does he want to keep this quiet?"

"Spiders? I thought you didn't like bees."

"I don't like either of them, but spiders… too many legs."

"The monster was Marjoline?"

"They changed her back? How did they do that?"

"The Heroes of Paris were here!?"

"I need to see my mother. It's been too long since I've visited her."

"Abigayle, did you really see the Heroes of Paris?" One of the maids asked the pretty servant girl and she nodded excitedly. Many around her turned to listen.

"I did! They are unbelievable! The girl flies like a bird. She's amazing and quick! She's the one who fixes all the damage! The man dressed like a black cat broke the fountain and she fixed it! Like magic! And it was because of that girl that Marjoline..." The girl stopped, her silly smile lowering.

"Marjoline is no longer a… monster…" she finished hesitantly.

"What could Montilyet be thinking? Marjoline can stay here?" A manservant turned to the old woman scornfully and she cowered back. "You attacked us, you old crone!"

"You were the one who made me dream about spiders!"

"How do you expect to stay here after doing such a thing?"

The aged maid shook her head tightly, her hands covering her face. "I-I didn't mean…"

"Enough!" The word snapped from Solene's lips before she could stop herself. Many heads swiveled to her in shock as if they'd forgotten she was there. Swallowing something bitter in her throat, Solene pressed her lips together tightly and marched forward. They made a pathway for her - just like her father. Abigayle caught her eye and the pretty girl's face instantly held a taste of fear.

"I believe my father demanded not to speak of what happened here tonight ever again. If you want to continue working here, you should all go back to your chores if you know what's good for you."

Holding her head high with her black hair flicking haughtily over her shoulder, she took the steps to follow her father and called out, "Marjoline, please bring my dinner to my bedroom."

"Yes, Mademoiselle." The wonderful voice answered her.

"Also," she added sharply, "if you have any issues with the staff here, please feel free to report to me. I will ensure my father knows his demands are not being satisfied properly."

Whispers continued as soon as she was out of sight. Forcing herself to stomp to her room, her footsteps grew faster and faster till she was practically sprinting to the door. Opening it, she was surprised to see nothing had changed at all. Her entire room was as it was before - buckles from her dress earlier still spread on her vanity, her hairbrush and rouge lying on her counter.

She remembered Tikki saying how maids had hidden in here and looked around sharply, but Solene was alone in the large bedroom.

The only thing missing was Treasure Island.

With a hard sigh, she shut the door, slid to the floor, and pulled her knees to her chest.

So much had happened tonight. It was almost too much to take in.

Marjoline getting turned into an akuma, Chat waking her with a kiss, saving her house from her rampaging, sleep-monster maid, the Bourgeois' leaving with threats of social suicide, her father denying that anything had even happened at all, and then… Marjoline was going to be okay.

Whatever had happened, her father seemed to have forgiven her. Maybe he had nightmares? Maybe he realized he was awful sometimes and decided to do one good thing in his life?

Something unexpected touched her hand and she glanced up to see the red kwami holding out one of Baker Boy's cookies. A tired chuckle escaped Solene's lips before she took the treat and broke it in half. Handing Tikki part of it, they both took a large bite of their share.

"Wow!" Solene said, her spirits automatically lifting at the sugar. "This is a really good cookie!"

"Isn't it?" Tikki giggled. "I never got to thank you for giving them to me."

"You're very welcome. I'll have to get more of these from Baker Boy. I will only have the best for you."

The kwami smiled kindly before a worried look crossed her small face. "Is Marjoline okay?"

"Everything is fine." Solene took another large bite, realizing how famished she really was. "Father told everyone downstairs that she was going to be here until she wanted to leave on her own. That basically means Marjoline will be here indefinitely - I hope."

"That's a relief. You saved the day again."

"Just doing my job." A nervous twist hit her stomach. "So, Tikki...about Chat and the-the-"

"The kiss?"

Solene's red cheeks rivaled Tikki's coloring. She leaned her head against the door and shoved the rest of the cookie in her mouth.

"This is just embarrassing," she said with her mouth full.

"Embarrassing, how?"

"You-you saw it… and he _did_ it. And I just… I don't know _…"_

Tikki had a patient look on her face as she floated down to rest on Solene's arm. "How do you feel about it?"

"Ha-haa, good question. I certainly _feel plenty._ I just… I don't know really know how to explain it. I feel… I feel… it's all..."

"Mixed up?" Tikki suggested.

"That's a good way to put it. I mean, it was my _first kiss._ I would have liked to have been _awake_ for it, but… I can't be upset because it was with _him_ , you know? He's just... so amazing! He's my hero, the prince that woke me up! Just like the fairy tale, Tikki. It means true love, right? That's what that means!"

The small smile that was beginning to grow on her lips immediately lowered.

"But then I feel weird because it's strangely coincidental that I was telling Baker Boy the same exact story and how I'd never find true love. And, lo and behold, of all people, _Chat_ is the one who woke me. Does this mean anyone could have waken me with a kiss? If it had been Bernard, or-" she made a face, "- _Albert Pernell_ , would it have made a difference? Fairy tales don't exist in the real world."

"You fly through the air with a magical yoyo fighting monsters," Tikki reminded cutely. "I think you should take that into account, Solene. Fairy tales come from somewhere. Maybe you’re creating your own."

The raven-head smiled. "I like that thought: _creating my own fairy tale_. Maybe I won’t end up with Bluebeard after all. But-” her face screwed in apprehension, “-I feel so nervous because how do I _talk_ to Chat about it? I certainly can't mention it to him as Coccinelle. Even bringing it up will give him too many clues about who I am. And as _Solene_ \- who knows if I'll ever see Chat like tonight ever again."

"You never know. I'm sure another opportunity will come where Chat and Solene will meet."

"Impossible. The only time I'll see him is if there's an akuma and I'm Coccinelle. There's no reason for Solene to be around if an akuma attacks randomly. I should have just confronted him when he stopped me earlier. Oh!" She sat up suddenly, remembering. "That's right! He knew my name! He called me ' _Mademoiselle Solene_ ' before he left! How did he know that?"

"Maybe he heard someone saying your name earlier?"

Solene frowned at the mystery before letting it go and blowing a strand of dark hair out of her face.

"This is just insane and mixed up. I'm happy and confused and… upset."

"Upset?"

" _I was asleep for the kiss_!" Solene moaned, her hands clapping on her hot face.

Tikki smiled sweetly. "It sounds like you are thinking about this way too hard. You have a long way to go before you need to sort out anything out. For now, just be Coccinelle and concentrate on what you have been chosen to do. You guys are a team - kiss or no kiss."

"Here's praying I'll be _awake_ if there's another one," she grumbled, and Tikki giggled.

A knock on the door startled them both.

"Mon coeur? I have your dinner ready." It was Marjoline.

Waiting for Tikki to slip back into the vanity, she stood, opened the door, and let the maid inside. As soon as the food was safely on her writing desk, Solene finally did what she wanted to do since earlier that afternoon.

She crossed the bedroom to wrap her arms around her dearest Marjoline.

****************************

Swinging in through the window from the rooftop, the transformation fell away with a bright green flash just in time and Plagg floated tiredly in the darkness to Gaspard's bed. The tiny cat flopping next to the open package of camembert.

"Kind of pushing the time limit there, aren't you, kid?" The kwami sighed into Gaspard’s pillow before picking up a slice of cheese.

Not answering, Gaspard crossed the floor to light the candle on his dresser. As the small light began flickering the darkness away, he turned to the window with his head full of thoughts.

So much had happened tonight, he could barely get his mind to concentrate on one thing. He'd met the beautiful Expo girl again, ran around a mansion with an akuma, saved the day with Coccinelle…

His thoughts quickly flickered to his enigmatic partner and he crossed the floor to sit tiredly on his bed next to Plagg. It was lucky Coccinelle showed up when she did. Once again, the silly girl had outsmarted the akuma. Despite how ridiculous she acted most of the time, she was amazingly perceptive: noticing the fountain outside the window, realizing the akuma had trouble phasing through her yoyo strings, using the gramophone as a makeshift spigot.

Though she did make her mistakes - he chuckled as he remembered her cutting the buckle of the akuma's shoe.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, there was something about Coccinelle that he couldn't help admiring. She had confidence, a self-assurance that seemed to be endless. She faced the akumas like she was made to be there. Ready for action. Ready to save. Completely fearless.

Despite figuring out how to break the spell over Solene - he blushed brightly at that memory - Gaspard had been lost until his partner had showed up. He'd almost gotten caught by the akuma - and yet, as soon as her tan hat had appeared, Gaspard had finally felt the tables turn in their favor.

He worried on his bottom lip with his teeth as his eyes flicked over to the small kwami. Though, once the akuma had changed back to the old lady, Coccinelle had felt… off. Like she was trying desperately to hide something. Her smile had been clearly fake and she'd stumbled her goodbye without any flirty anecdotes.

Her smell was off, too. It was usually sweet and fresh - like the bakery after a long day of customers - but this time… it held a twinge of apprehension.

Had something happened to her? Was that the reason she was late? Or maybe he’d done something wrong? Gaspard wanted to follow her to see if she was alright, but the old lady had stopped him.

And then, of course, he'd ran into _her_ again…

His cheeks blushed brightly. Kicking off his shoes, he let himself fall on the bed with a sigh.

As much as Gaspard had thought about the Expo girl since that fateful day, he'd never in his wildest imagination figured he'd meet her again. The mansion - all those rooms and decorations - proved just how much she was beyond his reach socially. He had already known she was part of the aristocracy, but - a hard pressure hit his stomach - she was a _princess_.

She really, truly was.

He couldn't help himself though.

Unthinkingly, he lifted his hand to brush against his mouth. Her lips had been soft, softer than he'd imagined. She was like a sleeping angel, curled in his arms. Just holding her had felt…what? Good? Great? What was a word to describe elated joy and dizziness and erratic heart beating bliss?

And her name… _Solene…_ it reminded him of a cool breeze on the Seine or the quiet right after a long day at the bakery. Soft, peace, tranquility. She had been so worried about her servant, Marjoline. About saving her father and friends. So selfless and kind…

But did she _know_ he’d kissed her? Had Solene - what a beautiful name! - realized that he woke her with it?

Could it have really been true love's kiss?

Coccinelle seemed happy to talk about fairy tales - though she scoffed at the thought of actually finding true love herself. What if… she had somehow sensed that he'd find his? That he'd needed to learn of Sleeping Beauty so that he would know what to do. Did Coccinelle get psychic abilities with her powers when she transformed? Maybe he could talk to her about it the next time he saw her. She was a girl, after all - and could probably give him some advice.

He scoffed at himself.

She’d probably laugh at him and his hopeless, one-sided infatuation. Solene was completely and utterly out of his league.

Raising his head, he glanced at his dark window again checking for a dash of red before rolling his eyes at his disappointment. It was silly to think Coccinelle would stop by. Why would she? She'd already gotten cookies earlier and she was just about to transform back after the akuma fight.

He remembered her fake smile as she left, the worried scent spreading from her. She obviously had other things on her mind besides him.

Though, on second thought, it would be hard to talk to her about what happened between him and Solene without giving himself away as Chat. Knowing her curiosity, she'd start asking too many questions. It wouldn't make sense if he spoke to her as Gaspard. Maybe he'd wait until he changed into Chat. He could talk to her then?

But she acted strange around him when he was transformed. Despite her incredible powers and intelligence, Coccinelle was a terrible flirt. She barely spoke sensibly when he was Gaspard! To talk to her about kissing another girl as Chat…? That was just a call for disaster. She would tease him mercilessly.

Maybe he could talk to her as Gaspard if he said it was another girl! Not mention Solene at all! Another girl that… woke up from a sleeping spell… and...

Gaspard turned on his side with a sour grumble and his green eyes flicked on the cheese chomping kwami.

The idea came so quickly, he spoke before he could stop himself.

"Hey, Plagg."

"What?" The kwami's droll tone was muffled by cheese.

"I have a question."

"Uh-huh."

"You've been around for a while now. You've had other people use your Miraculous."

"I thought we established this fact the first night I met you," the kwami mumbled sarcastically - a generous piece of cheese dangling over his mouth. "I've been around for a lot longer than _'awhile'_."

Gaspard sighed. "I know, I know. Bad choice of words."

Plagg gobbled the camembert and swallowed it whole all the while his sharp green eyes blinked boredly at the blond.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is: I could use some advice."

"I'm going to stop you right there. Look, kid, you want advice, you're asking the wrong kwami. I may have been around the block historically speaking, but there's a ton I don't know - or care to know."

"But you must have experienced some-"

The black cat gave him a hard look and successfully cut his sentence off. “'Experienced', as you say, is a stupid misconception of wisdom. I am a kwami. I serve a purpose and then it's back into the Miraculous I go. I am not here to build life lessons and teach you how to grow up. I'm here to do a job."

"And eat cheese," Gaspard said with a bitter bite in his voice.

Plagg's ears lowered slightly and he took a small breath. Turning away from the camembert, he crossed his small legs to face Gaspard.

"Alright, that might have come out a little harsher than I wanted. Using the word 'experienced' is like saying I know this or that because I've had it happen before, right? But, in my understanding, that doesn't necessarily mean I'm wise. Just because I've encountered a certain situation doesn't make me a subject expert."

"I don't understand. How does that stop you from giving advice about it then?"

"Because there are thousands of ways one tiny situation could be changed or fixed or messed up. I've seen countless situations of love, hate, anger, jealousy. In different degrees. Handled in a multitude of ways. What worked out positive for some spiraled out of control for others. Some of which it cost lives. I know better than anyone that each situation is completely different from the other. Sure, there are definite similarities to circumstances, but…"

Plagg suddenly had a sad look, his ears drooping even further. "Just believe me when I say I don't give advice to my Chosen. Not anymore. There's a reason a black cat is considered unlucky."

"Plagg…" Gaspard whispered, a touch of concern slicing his heart. Reaching out, he gently petted a finger on the kwami's soft black head. His pointed ears flattening with annoyance, he begrudgingly let Gaspard keep petting him.

"Bah, don't get soft on me, kid. I'm just explaining so you'll understand. All the problems you have, you need to figure out on your own. That's part of becoming the person you are meant to be. If you don't make the mistakes and rely solely on other people's advice, how are you supposed to grow?"

"Maybe it could help me determine what to do," Gaspard suggested.

"Yes, but what if someone gives you advice and you decided to take it and it was bad advice? How will you learn to cope with the mistake?"

"It was my decision to make that mistake."

"But a part of you would blame whoever who told you to do it this way. It'd be partially their fault for suggesting it in the first place."

Plagg ducked under Gaspard's finger and turned back to his camembert with a snort. "Just remember this, kid. You were chosen to be the Black Cat's Wielder for a reason. You harness the power of destruction. And with that, you gotta have smarts and intuition to make your own choices. Sure, listen to your partner and work together, but there will be times when you are on your own. You won't have Coccinelle to fall back on."

The kwami's comment hit a little too close to home. Gaspard remembered his thoughts just a few minutes ago: he'd been lost until Coccinelle had showed up. He'd almost been caught by the akuma.

"I've got to make my own decisions then. I guess I'll wait till I figure out what to do."

Plagg shot him a lazy smile.

"Despite being unlucky, us cats tend to have more wit than the rest. At least you have that going for you."

A thought crossed the kwami's face.

"By the way, aren't you supposed to be baking with your dad?"

"Merde!" Gaspard yelped, leaping off the bed.

****************************

Gaspard hadn't been in his room when Marcus went looking for him.

Dupain had cut the loaves without him, a frown of worry nicked on his forehead. Letting the loaves rise one last time before baking, he crossed his thick arms with a thoughtful sigh at the front counter. He could have sworn his son had gone upstairs after kneading. Maybe he'd stepped out while Marcus wasn't looking? But if that had happened, why didn't he say anything? Gaspard always let him know where he was going and why.

When Marcus had been younger, there were several young men of his acquaintance that became unruly as they got older. What was it called again? Rebellious stage? Was this what Gaspard was going through? Dupain had to admit his son had been acting more distant as of late. Maybe this was the cause?

The large man groaned and scratched the back of his head. Well, wherever Gaspard had gone off to, he hoped he'd be back soon. It was already nighttime.

The footsteps thundering down the stairs almost gave Marcus a heart attack. Twisting so quickly his apron tangled in his legs, the large man hobbled out of the front confectionary and into the back room. Sure enough, Gaspard's blond hair whisked into view.

"Papa, I-"

"Where have-"

They stopped, each regarding the other with mouths left open and words frozen on tongues. Clearing his throat, Dupain scratched the back of his neck and watched as his son mirrored his nervous habit.

"I'm so sorry, Papa. I lost track of time. Have you cut the loaves without me?"

"They are almost done rising. I could’ve used some help with the morning pasties, too." Dupain almost grimaced at the wince his son gave him. "Where were you earlier? I checked upstairs and you were gone."

"I-I-I had to take care of some stuff. I promise I'll be there for the next batch, Papa." Gaspard's lips curled into a nervous grin. "Do you have the cookie batter prepared? I can take care of that.”

A forgiving smile brushed Dupain’s mouth. “She’s all yours.”

Watching his son stroll past him with shoulders straight and hands rolling up sleeves, Marcus let go of a long sigh and bit back his tumbling questions.

_Rebellious stage, huh?_

****************************

The burn in his throat was rough and tight. A soft cry escaped his lips. Sitting in his office chair, a hot pressure built behind his clenched blue eyes.

She'd been his light. She'd kept his darkness at bay. But she was gone now. Gone forever. There were some days he still couldn't believe it. His lovely wife was here and then… dead. In his nightmares, he'd watched her die over and over - his cries unyielding and his pain unbearable. And, as she lay gasping for breath in his arms from a fall off the ledge or a terrible fever or a freak accident with the carriage, she always said the same thing: "She is a light, so let her shine."

And then Marjoline would be there, holding him in her old, strong arms and letting him cry on her shoulder. He'd forgotten that she had been there long ago when his wife had really passed. The old maid had felt the same loss as him. His wife had been her light, too.

And then it repeated with a new death for his wife, her mantra: "She is a light, so let her shine," crossing her dead lips, and Marjoline's comforting hug.

"She is a light, so let her shine…" A tear escaped his eye and he flicked it away impatiently with a finger. Taking a deep gulp of air, he turned to the sealed letter resting on this desk. The burgundy wax pressed with his insignia ring - House Montilyet. A toss of something strangely warm flickered inside him as he looked at the envelope.

"Be it Bourgeois, monsters, ghosts, or nightmares, Montilyet will stand strong," he whispered to himself. Reaching over, he grabbed the letter and ripped it into twos, then fourths before setting the scraps on his desk. Standing, he made sure he was composed before opening the door and heading to his bedroom chambers.

The moonlight shimmered through the long rectangle window to illuminate one small sentence at the top of the scrap pile.

'-advertisement for a new maid-'


	9. Doctor Death Part 1

The music room was on the second floor on the east side of the house. It was a warm, comforting spot and Solene's second favorite room in the entire mansion - the first being the library on the top floor. The windows were open this mid-morning and the comforting May breeze tossed the white curtains, brushing the white lace doilies that decorated the three prong candlesticks on the lampstands. Books of music and nonfiction histories sat on long shelves along the back wall.

Perched at the grand piano with her pink dress flouncing over her ankles, Solene's fingers flipped through the keys with schooled grace. Tossing the notes of Beethoven as easily as flicking her yoyo, Solene ended _Fur Elise_ with a practiced flourish and glanced up at the instructor with a small curl of pride on the right side of her lip.

Her instructor straightened her thick glasses and let out a small hissing breath.

"You haven't been practicing, have you?"

The proud smile instantly slipped off the young girl's mouth. Reaching over Solene's head to flip through the music, her instructor's thin frame, black-lace dress, and thick white hair reminded Solene of a magician's wand. Following the lady's long finger, she saw her circle the thick run of notes.

"Right here, Mademoiselle Montilyet," she said stiffly. "You used number two finger instead of three. This threw off the entire rhythm."

It hadn't - the rhythm had been perfectly in sync - but Solene had learned long ago to let the woman criticize without comment or barb. Her instructor's tongue could be sharper than Marjoline's if called to it.

"I apologize, Madame Mendeliev. Let me try again."

The older woman, her irritation defrosting, backed away and nodded. "From the top, if you please."

Straightening her shoulders, just as Solene began the first measure, the door to the music room opened and her fingers fumbled as her father walked in. Her instructor gasped in surprise.

"Oh, Monsieur Montilyet!" Solene's eyebrows quirked at the older lady's sudden wide smile and glittering eyes.

"Please excuse me for the intrusion, Madame Mendeliev, but I must speak with my daughter privately for a few minutes."

"Of course, of course! I will step outside. Please, take your time."

She sashayed around the grand piano like a prancing twig and, as the door closed behind her instructor, Solene snorted giggles.

Seemed the torch Madame Mendeliev held for her father was still burning brightly as ever.

Her father frowned disapprovingly, stepping quickly up to the piano. "You are still working on Beethoven? I thought I'd asked Madame Mendeliev to move you to Bach's _Fantasy and Fugue in D Minor_. I need you to play that piece during Monsieur Pernell's gala next month."

"We are just perfecting the runs," Solene answered, rising up to show him the sheet music. "I already started Bach last session." Catching his eye, she gave him a small smile. "I'll play it as beautifully as I can, Father. I promise I'll be ready."

Her father sighed slowly and his blue eyes drifted from hers to trail to the lovely carpet.

The silence grew between them for a few palpable seconds before she dared to ask, "Is that all?"

"No, Solene. There have been some developments," he finally said, his gaze still avoiding her.

"Developments?" She repeated with a nervousness suddenly springing in her stomach. "What kind of developments?"

"Seems I have underestimated the Bourgeois taste for the dramatics." His back straightened and he laced his hands behind his back. "Monsieur Bourgeois has written to _Le Temps_ and a reporter is being sent to the house for a statement."

"A statement about what…?"

"The… matter of the dinner party the night before."

Solene blinked in surprise. "You mean the monster attack-" she stopped herself as he glanced sharply at her, "-I-I… they want a statement from us? Why? Nothing out of the ordinary happened that night."

"The Bourgeois have proclaimed bold accusations against our family."

"What kind of accusations?"

"That we are the reason monsters have started attacking Paris."

" _What!?_ " The entire notion was so absurd, Solene couldn't help the incredulous laugh that escaped her. Her father scowled tightly and her laughter died in her throat.

"This is serious, Solene. If these wild claims spread, our legacy, our reputation, will be in shambles. Never mind your running off during the Expo. I may be called into the courts for this."

Her face paled and all humor wiped completely away. “The courts? But there isn't any proof! Just accusation! They can’t do that!’"

"Sometimes accusation is enough to warrant an arrest. I know many are anxious to stop whomever is causing these attacks."

"What will you do, Father?"

His fingers, clenched tightly in a fist, rose to rest on the piano's cover. "I will remind them that we are an old family of upstanding morality and that this wild allegation from the Bourgeois is lie based on false ceremony. The Montilyets have sponsored Paris on numerous occasions throughout the decades and helped to build her to the crowning jewel she is today! We need to remind them of our services to France! Of all that we have fought for and won! I will not let our family dynasty be torn down by those Bourgeois scum!"

He pounded the piano so hard with his fist, it clanged the strings inside. Solene jumped.

"I am needing you to be on your best behavior, Solene. Our very house depends upon it. Until there's another monster attack, we have to be constantly vigilant in how we publicly display ourselves."

"We don't know when another monster attack will happen though," Solene said softly, her blue gaze flicking to her fingers - which were twisting in her lap.

"You must continue to act as if nothing is amiss in your social circle. The less we speak about this incident, the better. It will brush over soon enough."

"Father-" Solene started, the slice of worry hard and thick inside her stomach.

"Please, concentrate on your piano. Monsieur Pernell is expecting perfection."

She watched her father leave the room, his back straight as ever, but his shoulders holding a slight dip in defeat.

***************************

Marcus Dupain had stepped out early at dawn - leaving Gaspard in charge of the morning rush.

Sara, Gaspard's long-time friend and local flower girl, popped in after an hour of him pouncing back and forth inside the shop like a panicked feline trying to fill out orders. Setting her flower basket aside, she whisked an apron from the back shelf, tied it around her thin waist, and stood behind the counter to tend the pastry case. Gaspard nodded gratefully to her as he maintained the back ovens and kept their depleting shelves stocked. They worked well together - the redhead smiling gaily at the filing customers while Gaspard packaged up croissants, sourdoughs, and the sweet loaves his father had made the day before.

When the morning finally broke to noon, both teens sat together behind the counter - tired, but happy.

"Thank you for the help, Sara," Gaspard said kindly. Leaning with an elbow on the case, his navy shirt was dusted with powdered sugar and his pants had a light stain on the thigh.

He looked like a handsome mess, standing there beside her. The redheaded girl blushed lightly, but kept her brown eyes on the rag she was using to wipe down the counters. She was still nervous after confessing her feelings to him several days prior, but she couldn't help the affection that laced through her heart at his lovely smile.

"I expect proper compensation," she said, with a business-like flair attempting to hide her reddening cheeks. "Your busy bakery kept me from a day of flower selling, Gaspard."

He laughed and swept a hand though his draping locks - and didn't notice Sarah's eyes flick to follow his fingers. "Papa and I will make sure you are well compensated for your assistance today. You really saved my neck."

"Where is Papa Dupain anyway?"

The blond gestured to the remaining baguettes in the corner tray. "He received a notice that one of our longtime patrons was ill this morning. He decided to deliver the baguettes to the gentleman himself."

"That's very kind of him to drop everything for a customer. Especially when it's been so busy every day."

"The gentleman has been coming here for years. It's the least we could do. He's one of Papa's best customers."

The door's bell tinged, momentarily distracting Gaspard, and Sara used the opportunity to study him. Though he was his same cheerful self, she couldn't help but notice a tightness behind his green eyes. It was almost as if he hadn't gotten enough sleep these past few days. He greeted the customer with his usual genteel courtesy, but she saw him sigh quietly as he moved to grab six small loaves of sourdough and package them up.

Something was off about him.

As the customer left through the door, she dropped the rag and tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the counter. Gaspard went to the back room and a lovely waft of fresh croissants floated into the air. She inhaled gratefully as he came back to the front.

"Those smell wonderful," Sara said.

"Here-" he held the tray out for her, "-take one while they're hot."

Snatching wax paper, she grabbed a croissant and he turned away to the display case - but not before she could catch the troubled expression just on the outskirts of his green eyes.

"Hey, Gaspard?" She asked, fingering the warm, flaky pastry without taking a bite.

"Hm?"

"Do… do you have something on your mind?"

He was quiet for only a moment before: "Nothing in particular - no. Why would you ask?"

"I can't help but think you're troubled."

"I'm fine," he answered, keeping his back to her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"You don't believe me?"

"Nope." She could see his shoulders tensing underneath his suspenders.

With a smile, she decided to prod further. "Gaspard…"

"Sara..." He mocked over his shoulder.

"You're ly-ing," she sang.

"No, I'm no-ot," he sang back. "Where is this coming from?"

"You're acting weird."

"How?"

"I don't know. There's something wrong with your eyes."

"My eyes?" He turned with a look of surprise. "What's wrong with them?"

"You are trying to hide something - I can tell."

"There's nothing-"

"Yes, there is!"

"-and even if there was, maybe this is something I don't want to talk about."

"Ah, so there _is_ something wrong! Is it about the bakery? Your dad?" She took a sharp stab in the dark. "Or a _girl_!"

At the word 'girl', the half empty tray slipped from Gaspard's fingers and went clattering to the checkered tile, dumping several rolling croissants on the floor. The blond boy exhaled sharply before finally turning to her. Behind her smirk, her crossed arms, and her knowing expression, a tight sadness pooled in her heart as his open look.

She'd hit the nail on the head.

"Look, Sara, I-"

"You promised me if you found someone you were interested in you'd talk to me about it! I told you I'd help you!"

He was so cute, pressing his fingers against his face before dragging them slowly off his chin with surrender. Letting his hands drop to the sides of his apron, he let go of a long breath.

"Someone told me that this is something I need to figure out on my own. I shouldn't ask for advice from anyone-"

" _Gaspard_ ," Sara laughed incredulously. "You realize you have no idea about women, right? Like, you are probably the most clueless person I know! If anyone needs advice, it's you. Who in France would ever say to figure it out on your own? I'll bet you don't even know what to figure out!"

"Thanks for the confidence," he said darkly, but not without a tiny curve hitting his lips. He got quiet for a few seconds, his thoughts obviously mulling over her words. And finally-

"There's… a girl…"

"Ah-HA! I knew it! Who is she? What does she look like? Do I know her?"

His face blushed red at her triumphant giggles. "You-you don't know her. I barely know her. I just… I don't know. It's stupid, Sara."

"Stupid?" Her eyebrow quirked up.

He folded his arms and leaned against the counter - the tray and spilled croissants momentarily forgotten. "I-I met her at the Expo several days ago. Well, not really met her. I mean, I spoke with her, but she-it- it was really brief and then she was gone. It was stupid of me to keep thinking about her, but…-" his green eyes grew distant with a pleasant memory, "-she's different, you know? There's something about her. Something… special. I could tell the moment I saw her."

The redhead locked the tightness in her chest and forced a smile to stay on her lips. His eyes were warm now, his expression almost wistful.

"Special, huh? Sounds serious for only one meeting."

"Actually… I met her again - a day or two ago?"

"What!? Did she come to the bakery? Was I there?"

"No, no!" He shook his head and his blond hair draped into his green eyes. "It was later. I was out of the bakery and I kind of ran into her. She… she didn't recognize me though. She thought I was someone else."

Sara frowned, confused, but Gaspard waved his hand in the air.

"There were circumstances. I learned her name though. It's… Solene." Just the name passing his lips made Sara's stomach curl in pain.

So, the girl had a name. He'd met her again and learned her name and-

"Solene… interesting - does she have a last name?"

"I don't know it, but…" he blushed brightly, "I know where she lives."

"Whoa!" Sara blinked before forcing a teasing grin. "That's a serious crush, Gaspard!"

"It was an accident. It just sort of happened. I wasn't stalking her or anything."

He turned away to pick up the fallen croissants and avoid her knowing smile. "Besides, it's not like it matters. She's... so high above me. This is just stupid and pointless, and... I've already told myself that there is no point to liking her. She's basically a princess."

"A Princess of Paris and a humble baker looking on with eyes of love…" she sighed. "Almost like a fairy tale."

To her surprise, he jumped as if shocked and the dropped croissants spilled out of his hands - making more of a flaky mess on the floor.

"Fairy tale," she heard him murmur under his breath as he quickly bent to pick the pastries back up. "Why is it always fairy tales…?"

"So, you know where she lives. Why not go see her?" Sara asked simply.

"What? Are you crazy?" He dumped the croissants on the tray and gave her an incredulous scowl. "I can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"Be-because she doesn't even know I exist!"

"And yet you met her before and learned her name…?"

"That was different. I told you there were circumstances."

"Right-" Sara rolled her eyes, "-circumstances. Well, lover boy, you can't wait around for circumstances to keep happening. Sometimes you have to create your own. I say go visit her. Or at least try to meet her again soon. Maybe even learn her last name this time around?"

Placing the tray and ruined pastries on the counter, he gave a furtive look, but shook his head - tossing his blond hair out of his eyes. "No, no, I couldn't go. Not again. Not without a reason."

She sighed quietly, all the pretense of jest falling off her face.

"Look, I think you should know: you are a wonderful man, Gaspard. Any girl would be lucky to have you. If you like her that much, don't let her go. She must be somebody really special if she's caught your clueless attention. But you can't just wait for something to happen on its own. You have to pursue her - show her that you're interested."

"But-but what if she rejects me?" he asked, his fear so open she couldn't help but smile for the poor kid.

"At least you tried. You'll know how she feels about you and that's it's time to move on. And what if she does like you back, mmm? As I said before, any girl would be lucky to have you. Maybe it'll work out like a fairy tale after all."

As the glimmer of potential hope spread on his handsome face, Sara decided to take her own advice.

It was time to move on from Gaspard.

***************************

For a well-dressed gentleman, Dupain was expecting a large house with a parked carriage in the front. Instead, following the address he was given, he found a modest one-story complex with boarded windows on the outskirts of the industrial section. Shouldering the baguettes with a touch of apprehension, Marcus hurried up the broken concrete steps and rang the bell at the chipped door.

It opened with a loud creak only several seconds later and an older woman's head appeared around the side. The bags under her eyes, the sickly parlor of her skin, and the thin ragged curls seemingly glued on her scalp almost made Dupain trip down the steps in fright. She reminded him of a ghost - one of those banshee legends his childhood friends used to tell stories about.

Her owlish eyes scowled at him as he swallowed down his unease and brushed the satchel's flap back to withdraw the long package.

"Good morning, Madame. My name is Marcus Dupain. I am here to deliver some baguettes to a Monsieur Jacque Révérer."

"He's ill," the woman croaked, her eyes twisting to the bread.

"I heard. He's always been a steady patron of mine and I wanted to wish him speedy recovery and a gift of his favorite baguettes-"

"That's nice, but he won't be gettin’ better. You should never come here ever again."

Dupain almost dropped the bread.

"W-what? What do you mean he won't be getting better? Why not?"

The woman clicked her tongue and reached out with spindly fingers to snatch the long package from Marcus's hands.

"The fool got the White Plague."

And the door slammed shut in Dupain's face.

***************************

The room was silent - not a squeak of a leather chair nor a clearing of a throat. The smell in the large oval-shaped room was mixed with musty books, thin body-odor covered with copious amounts of powdered cologne, and a thick smoky scent of cigarettes. The shifty-eyed occupants in the room radiated a hot skepticism and irritation.

Sitting on a raised platform, they stared down at Jean-Antoine Villemin as he stood facing each of their disbelieving eyes with a shiver of hopelessness rushing down his spine.

A tall man stood from his chair with sharp dark eyes clenched in anger.

“This is the fifth time you have called for us to meet, Monsieur Villemin. You seem to think the _French Académie Nationale de Médecine_ are at your beck and call. I, for one, have read your _Etudes sur la Tuberculosis_ and I find it completely preposterous. Did you monitor the subject’s behavior hourly? How does inoculating those infected prove it can be spread through inhalation? There have been families where only one comes down with the disease and yet the rest of the family is spared.”

“My assistant and I were as diligent as we could be,” Jean answered, straightening the round spectacles perched on his nose. A bead of sweat rushed down the side of his round cheek and dripped on the shaking papers in his hand. “If you look at this recent study, Monsieur Abelin, you will see that I have included not only the recent study between infected rabbits, but a successful transmit of the disease from human to cow.”

“And how does this prove the disease is spread airborne?” Another physician’s voice spoke up. “There are too many circumstances to take into consideration!”

Abelin nodded briskly. “ _Oui, oui_! How long was the infected incarcerated with the non-infected? How did they interact? How far along was the disease in the infected? Did they touch physically? Did you put any of this into account in your theory?”

Jean swallowed. “The-The subject was with the cow for a total of three days before it was proven the cow also was infected.”

“Ah-ha! From physical touch! I knew it!”

His grey mustache trembling, Jean turned to the third section of his notes. “They never touched. The subject was only in the beginning stages of the plague. The cow got the disease through other means - which can only be deduced as an airborne virus. If you’d just see my study here-”

“Enough of this nonsense! I have a class of respectable doctors to teach! I am ashamed to have sat here for this long listening to your wild, unprovable gibberish. I declare this meeting over and the matter of your studies closed.”

Mouth shutting with a snap, Jean’s eyes turned to stare at his work clutched in his hands as, one-by-one, the council filed out the room. Within minutes, the door shut with a bang of finality and silence rang throughout the empty chamber. Jean dropped the papers on the desk and put his face in his hands. He was grateful his assistant was not here to see his failure. Having worked for years on this discovery only to be turned away by the so called most brilliant medical minds in Paris would probably do the poor chap in.

That is - if the disease didn’t get Révérer first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean-Antoine Villemin is an unsung hero in the discovery of the spread of Tuberculosis. He wrote several books and articles, presented his work numerous times, but was always discredited. It wasn't until after his death that his work was finally recognized and accepted by Medical Scholars.


	10. Doctor Death Part 2

The day had turned beautiful, the mid-afternoon falling like a wave of sunlight.

Solene needed a break.

From piano to singing to English lessons, her brain felt fuzzy and her shoulders drooped over her desk. Leaning her head on her palm, her quill blooped dark ink on the thick paper. Normally she was better with lessons. Normally she could handle the long haul of duties and studies and whatever else she was supposed to do in her monotonous days.

But now…

Blue eyes slipping from the plotted paper to the cloudless sky outside, her fingers moved to her ear to casually twist the dull earring buds in her lobes.

Now there was so much _more_.

With a light sigh escaping her pink lips, Solene studied the lovely buildings in the distance of Paris. Even from her window, she could see the prick of the Eiffel Tower. That was where she’d first met him. And out there -  somewhere out there in the city - a boy walked around, going from his day to day. A boy with messy blond hair and a miraculous jewel similar to her own. A boy who had fought by her side shrouded in a black gentlemen’s coat and pointed black cat ears. Her pale cheeks blushed and a mischievous smile grew. Her hand left her earlobe to touch her curled lips.

A boy, whose true love’s kiss, woke her like a princess straight from a fairy tale.

Was he thinking of her, too-?

The tap on her desk broke her daydream and Solene squeaked, startled.

“Solene Montilyet, I can’t have you wasting paper and ink staring out the window.” The round-cheeked woman’s lips pursed. Unlike tall, willowy Madame Mendeliev, Madame Bustier was short, sprout, and had a softer temper - though she could get feisty when she wanted to.

“Get back to it. Past tense is just as important as present.”

“I already know past tense,” Solene murmured under her breath, her chin falling back on her hand dejectedly.

The tutor decidedly ignored that comment. It was another few minutes, and three more ink blots, that Solene felt a light snap of a ruler on her shoulder.

“You’re spacing again, Solene.”

“Ah, Madame…” She sighed and dropped her quill. “You have to admit lessons would be so much nicer outside underneath the oak tree? Or-” Solene’s blue eyes grew excited, “-maybe I could read a book in English instead! I bet I would learn a lot quicker than translating political articles!”

“Your father wants you to be up-to-date with politics before Monsieur Pernell’s gala. The recent events at Ivory Coast will certainly be discussed. You will need to know names, facts, dates.”

“So, we got a small colony in the tropics - big deal.” She rolled her eyes.

“Economically and politically speaking this is _huge_ deal. England recognizing the Ivory Coast as a protectorate under our leadership is a crucial step for our country's expansion into foreign colonization!”

“Politics are so _boring_!”

“And yet you will learn it,” the Madame added pointedly.

“It’s as if this gala is going to make or break me!” Solene declared, throwing her hands up dramatically. “Why is my life suddenly dictated by this one single event? I’m learning an entire piece by Bach for it! I’m memorizing ridiculous amounts of information for it! People don’t seem to realize life will go on! Different rumors will spread! People will talk about other things! This is just… _gah!_ ”

Her teacher’s face had fallen into a conflicted frown before she released a low sigh.

“I understand this is not the most riveting reading material, Solene, but your father has specifically instructed me to brush you up on all the latest economical breakthroughs and political maneuvers. There will be many prospects for you. Having a knowledgeable wife is a very tempting offer for any eligible bachelors.”

“I know…” Solene bit down on her lip slowly. “But… but what if someone wants to talk about other things besides politics?”

Madame Bustier groaned and pressed a hand to her forehead.

“No, no, just listen! What if they’d like to talk about, say for instance, popular _novels_ circulating within the youth culture! We are the future and any influence is worth studying, _right…_?” Her sentence ended in a small squeak.

“I highly doubt that. Now, back to your paragraph.”

As Solene begrudgingly turned back to pick up her quill, she didn’t see Madame Bustier tap her fingers thoughtfully on her crossed arms. The older woman’s brown eyes slipped to her leather briefcase and back again to Solene. Finally, after a moment of inward debate, she sighed and crossed over to open the case.

As Solene finished the last translation, she glanced over to see her instructor pushing a thick brown book across the desk to her. Curious, Solene grabbed the book and opened the cover only to bite back a scream of delight.

The beautiful book - underneath the beloved title - depicted a pirate standing with a foot on the starboard bow, his buccaneer hat tipped low over his forehead.

“Trea-Treasure…” Her heart! Oh, her happy heart! Hugging the book to her chest, she gaped at the older woman. “How-how did you-”

“On second thought, I think you might have made a valid argument, Solene. I also saw you reading this last week underneath the desk when you should have been filling out your analysis of bipartisan democracies in the Americas.” The kind woman gave her a warm smile. “Your father took it away from you, didn’t he?”

“I… yes, he did…” Solene wrapped her arms tighter around the precious novel, her fingers shaking.

“I thought as much. He doesn’t seem to be one for fictional literature.”

“Can I - Can I _really…_?” Her blue eyes were shining with delight, hope, and a touch of fear.

Madame exhaled shortly and straightened her shoulders. “We’ll make this a bargain, Solene. You perfect your translations before the gala and I will allow you to read this as a background assignment. It will be a beneficial lesson to understanding the literary terms used in English fiction. I expect you to write me a full parchment worth of examples throughout the book: metaphors, unusual comparisons, puns.”

“I can’t believe you have a copy!”

“It looked interesting. I’ve always been a fan of adventure tales.” Madame shot her a lovely smile before clearing her throat. “This is an extra assignment. It is important for you to concentrate on what your father wants you to learn first. Treasure Island comes last to everything else, alright?”

With a small amused laugh at Solene’s delighted nod, she continued: “Please be careful with that. This is to borrow, not own _or_ lose. Now, put that away before someone sees. We need to go over your possessive pronouns.”

“I-I will guard it with my life! _Thank you_!”

To Solene’s embarrassment, heat raced behind her eyes and a glimmer of a tear traced down her cheek. Wiping it away quickly, she set the precious book on her lap and diligently picked up her quill.

********************************

Sara had left about an hour ago - the wage for her help today tucked into the pocket of her skirt.

Gaspard had just finishing settling the money drawer when she suddenly burst through the bakery door, startling him so badly the coins he was holding fumbled out of his fingers. They rolled loudly on the tile as she marched to the counter, her brown eyes gleaming. She unceremoniously dumped a pencil case and a large roll of paper in front of him - her face holding a twinkle of pride.

Green eyes flicking from his friend to the paper and pencils, he opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

“This is from my pa. Supposed to be for learnin’, but I don’t have time for that,” she announced - with a tone that suggested he better not question her story.

“What should I do with this?” he asked. The scowl she shot him made his insides squirm.

“ _Think_ _hard_ , Gaspard. We both know you are absolute rubbish when it comes to talking to girls you like. Why not draw her a picture instead? I heard a saying recently: ‘ _a picture is a poem without words_ ’. I’m curious how you’ll put that theory to the test.”

Giving him a small wink, Sara turned back to the bakery door, her red hair tossing self-righteously over her shoulder. Her hand stopped on the handle and she said loud enough for him to hear, “If she doesn’t love you back then she is a damned fool. Princess or not.”

And she left.

He glanced down at the gift: blank paper and case of pencils.

Possibilities raced through his mind.

_A picture is a poem without words._

_Solene…_

The batter for the éclairs needed to be mixed. The floor was filthy with the dusty boots of the morning’s customers. The coins were still scattered on the floor. The back oven’s ashes needed to be cleared for tomorrow’s bread.

It was a way too early for closing - _but he couldn’t wait!_

Scooping up the paper and pencil case, Gaspard hurried around the counter, locked the shop’s door, and practically sprinted up the stairs to his bedroom.

He slammed his bedroom door shut, knocking Plagg awake from his catnap on his pillow. The kwami gave a grumbling scowl before noticing Gaspard’s expression. He quirked an eyebrow.

“What’s got you all jittery?”

“A picture is a poem without words!” Gaspard proclaimed excitedly, dumping the supplies on his bed.

He dragged his nightstand to the edge of his bed and jumped with long legs on the mattress - bouncing the hissing cat kwami off the pillow. Settling crisscrossed in front of the stand, he snagged the pencils and the paper and popped open the case. Gaspard picked up the small knife inside and immediately started sharpening one of the pencils.

“A picture is a _what now_?” Plagg drifted over to land on Gaspard’s shoulder tiredly. His little face was scrunched in irritation, but his green eyes flickered with curiosity.

“I’m going to draw her a picture!” Gaspard grinned brightly - setting down the pencil to grab another one. “I’ll give it to Solene and she’ll understand how I feel about her!”

“You’re going to hand her a drawing? Of what?”

“Of _her!_ Of how I see her! I’m terrible at talking! Maybe I can show how I feel like this.” He stopped sharpening for a moment with his shoulders squaring. “No. I _will_ show her. I’ll pour everything I have into it. A picture is a poem without words, Plagg. I won’t need to talk if I have this!”

Plagg gave a small sigh. “If this is what you think is best.”

“It is.” Gaspard nodded, setting the second pencil down and reaching for the paper. He spread a piece, anchoring it with his candlestick and elbow to keep it from rolling back up.

Lead hovered over parchment. Hand paused, awaiting command. Closing his eyes with a soft smile, he pictured the first time he’d seen her - that toss of red, those jet-black locks piled in twists, that parasol giving her an ethereal glow. The way she’d smiled at him.

That moment when he’d asked for her to look back-

And she _had._

The pencil lowered to the paper and he started to draw.

********************************

Dropping his bag at the door, Jean-Antoine Villemin ran a hand through his balding locks and sighed tiredly through his burly mustache. The air was stale, thin - the windows boarded in the small wooden house. Glasses slipping on his thick nose, he picked up the lit lantern on the stand and stepped through the quiet hallway before stopping at a closed mahogany door on his right.

His hand shook as it hovered over the door frame with uncertainty.

Another failure - even with the entirely of his research right before their eyes.

They failed to see it.  

Taking a steady breath, he knocked hesitantly and a hoarse “come in” floated from behind the door. Opening, the tiny light tossed over the dark room before flickering on the pale, thin figure lying on the small twin bed. Grabbing the facemask hanging on one of the spokes, Villemin covered his mouth and nose before stepping closer.

“Ah, Jean, how did it go?” Jacque Révérer smiled weakly through a sweaty brow. Attempting to sit up with a hiss of pain, he coughed tightly into a red-spotted rag in his fingers.

“Steady, my friend. Steady,” Jean said softly, coming forward to sit on the chair facing his bed. Holding his hands to brace his friend’s bony shoulders, his heart squeezed in his chest at the stale piece of baguette left on his dinner tray on the nightstand.

“You must eat, Jacque. It will strengthen you. Isn’t this from your favorite bakery?”

Sunken eyes downcast, Jacque shrugged through his stained shirt. “I’m not sure it matters if I eat or not, Jean. I won’t be recovering from this. I can already feel it.”

“The sickness has hit you so quickly. From our studies, White Plague can take weeks, even _years_ to manifest its symptoms, but-”

“I know.”

“So, why you? Why… now?” Jean bit back the heat from his eyes and placed a hand on his assistant’s thin arm.

Jacque gave a weak look of hope. “How did the presentation go?”

At Villemin’s crestfallen face, a sense of sad understanding passed between the two men. Thick silence pressed hard on their shoulders as they sat together in the dark room.

“I will make them see, Jacque. I will make them understand.”

“You’ve tried. Multiple times. They won’t listen to reason.” Another cough burst from Jacque’s mouth and he covered it with his rag once more. “Pl-please… please leave me. At this rate, you will catch it even with the facemask. Madame will care for me.”

A tear leaked from his eye behind his glasses and Jean, for once, let it fall. This made Jacque smile with crimson coated lips.

“Crying for your lowly assistant?”

“You know you are more than an assistant to me. You’re my partner. If I had not dragged you into this mess-”

“I would not have been part of the biggest breakthrough in modern medicine. When your name goes down in history, it’ll all be worth it. I have been blessed to be your partner all these years. If my death will help to further prove your research, I will happily die for that cause. And just think: I’ll be seeing Margot soon. Though knowing my sister, she’ll probably wallop me across the head for dying like this.”

“I don’t deserve you, my friend,” Jean whispered. “Please keep going. Please don’t die…”

“I never make promises I can’t keep. You deserve to win, Jean. And that’s the last I want to hear about it. Now, go.”

Another round of squelching coughs racked Jacque’s thin frame. Hand hovering uselessly, his assistant gestured him to the door with a wave of his fingers. Standing, he left the burning lantern on his friend’s nightstand and - once out of the room with the door shut - Jean sunk to his knees to weep bitterly.

********************************

His senses strengthened as Nooroo washed his body with magic - he immediately searched for the perfect candidate. Closing his eyes, his mind spread over the wide city - cries, fears, anger, regret, solitude, madness. Yes, yes, they were all ripe for him to take. To infect. There was a crying child. A thin beggar on the street. A woman scorned by her lover.

A flicker of hard rage pricked his interest and Empereur turned his mind’s eye on the man. He could see him - his hands trembling, frothing emotional anguish twisting inside him. His face, covered by a cloth mask, was crushed in despair.

Flower Petal, his first akuma, had done massive widespread destruction to the city. Meanwhile, Lady Nightmares had begun to rebel against his wishes - only concentrating on the household and the people inside it. Perhaps _that_ was the key to his success. The larger the blight on Paris, the higher chance he had destroying those two pests and securing the book.

He could feel the power within this weeping man. The bitterness.

A white butterfly brushed into his palm and he impressed his will into it.

“Give that man the strength to take his revenge, little one,” he murmured gently to the blackened creature - which then took off through the upper window and into the sun-filled sky.

********************************

She plopped on her bed with book in hand - already flipping the pages eagerly for the chapter she’d left off on. Solene’s lips curled lightly as she found it and settled herself into the story once more. Tikki, eating her way through the other side of Baker Boy’s cookies, gave her a small smile before coming up to rest on top of the book.

“That certainly was nice of your instructor.”

Solene sighed happily. “I can’t believe I have this in my hands again. I thought I’d never be able to finish the story.”

“I’m glad you’re going to have some relaxation time. You really work hard on your studies.”

Solene grinned at her little friend. “I wish I could take you with me. What if I need to transform and I’m nowhere near my room?”

The crimson kwami shrugged. “You could always carry a small satchel with you. One of my past Chosen used to put me in a pouch strapped to her waist.”

“I couldn’t do that to you! How boring!”

Tikki giggled. “Oh, no, it was lovely and comfortable. She was quite the seamstress - even making me a fluffy cotton pillow inside to cuddle with.”

The raven-haired frowned thoughtfully and closed her book, marking her place with a ribbon.

“I’ll have to think about this, Tikki. I’d feel better if I could take you everywhere, but I’m not sure how you’d feel about hiding in my skirts. I can’t put cookies in my petticoats.”

Setting the book down, Solene crossed her room to search her drawers. After only a few minutes, she fished out a thin coin purse with a comb inside it. Taking out the comb and setting it on her vanity, her fingers touched the delicate fabric. A wash of something hot burned against her eyes. She held the pouch carefully, brushing her thumbs on the lovely pink embroidered flowers on the edge.

“That’s beautiful, Solene,” Tikki cooed.

“It was my mother’s. I forgot I had it.” A smile flicked on her lips and she grabbed a corset string and strapped it through the purse. Tying it to her waist, she plucked up the last two cookies and plopped them into the pouch. Tikki fluttered inside and she snapped it shut.

I’ll match it with a ribbon instead of a corset string. How does it feel in there?”

“It’s comfy!” The kwami chirped - materializing out of the pouch with a grin.

Solene matched with a grin of her own. “Perfect! Now you can hide with me! I’ll make sure to sneak you every treat I can.”

The kwami whizzed up to nuzzle Solene’s cheek happily.

Just as she was shifting the pouch in a better position on her waist with a scrutinizing frown on her face, a fierce tightness lurched in her stomach. Looking up, she caught Tikki’s narrowing look.

“Solene! It’s an akuma!”

A confident smile spread on Solene’s lips.

“I was hoping I’d get the chance to transform today! Makes things a lot easier for me now that it’s after lessons! Tikki, _Transformez-moi!_ ”

********************************

After finishing his drawing a few hours ago and rushing down to clean up the mess in the bakery, his father had come in from his errand with a frown on his face. Gaspard had quirked an eyebrow at his father’s strangely stoic behavior, but he left it, grateful the older Dupain was distracted with his thoughts. After hurrying through mixing batters and counting supplies, Gaspard had rushed upstairs to change.

He would have left earlier, but he’d changed his shirt three times, much to the amusement of Plagg, before finally settling on a nicely-pressed creamy beige. He’d slipped on his best trousers - the ones that had only a mild stain on the knee from strawberry jam.

Blond hair combed, brown sack of full of preselected pastries - including two éclairs - and his drawing tucked in his pocket, Gaspard had thundered down the stairs with a quick, “Bye, Papa! I’ll be back later!” and he was on his way.

It was a long walk to her house. Longer than he’d realized. As Chat, he could fly over the streets with his baton. As Gaspard, it was growing dark by the time he saw the familiar golden gate. Hands twisting on the bag of baked goods, he froze, his heart in his chest pounding hard and fast.

The gate was open - waiting for him.

Foot hovered in the air to cross the cobblestone road. He blinked before his thin shoe fell swiftly back into place on the sidewalk.

He let out a groan, which sounded more like a whine.

“Oh, _Dieu_ , Plagg…”

“Come on, lover boy! What’s your deal?” Plagg grumbled in his shirt collar. It had become one of the kwami’s new favorite places to hide. “You decided to do this. You’re just going to hand it to her and leave, right? Nothing to wet your trousers over. Besides, don’t you want to see her again?”

“Yeah, but now that I’m here…” The fear, the nerves, the anxiety - they twisted sharply in his stomach.

Gaspard felt sick - and excited - but mostly _sick_.

Would Solene recognize him as Chat? Would she realize he was the one who’d kissed her awake? Did she even remember it happened? How would she react to seeing him as a civilian on her doorstep? They’d technically met at the Expo, but that didn’t mean she remembered him. She probably had a ton of suitors waiting on her every whim. Gaspard was no one compared to her. He was just a simple baker.

A simple baker with a simple drawing.

“Alright, kid, it’s time to do this or go home with your tail between your legs.”

The blond shot his kwami a quirked eyebrow. “You’re suddenly ready to give advice, I see. Whatever happened to staying out of my personal life?”

“I _am_ staying out. It’s just my luck your lady love is rich. I’m thinking with a selfish mindset here, I promise. She’s got money - more money means more cheese for me.”

Despite his nervousness, Gaspard snorted a laugh. “Alright, alright, just let me… let me figure out what to say."

“What’s there to say? We both know what’s going to happen. You’ll hand her the bag of pastries and your drawing - then you’ll either trip over your words or not say anything at all and smile at her with that dopy look in your pathetic eyes. Now come on already! I want to dig into that new wheel of camembert I’ve been saving.”

Straightening his shoulders, releasing a low breath, Gaspard reached up to smooth his hair carefully before stepping, with resolve, to cross the street. Passing a rolling carriage and a strolling couple, he walked to the golden gate, his nerves twisting like icy snakes.

Just as his foot touched on the gravel pathway lining the mansion, he stopped as a sharp hitch jumped in his stomach that had nothing to do with seeing the love of his life.

“Plagg…?” he glanced at the kwami, eyes wide.

The tiny cat was tense as well. With a small nod, he answered Gaspard’s unasked question.

“Akuma.”

********************************

He stood.

_They will all pay._

His thin mask had morphed over his mouth and nose when a butterfly had hit it and stretched from the simple white cloth to a brown leather that pointed several long inches to his chin. Round goggles covering his eyes, the thick leather slipped over his lips and around the back of his head. He lifted his hands, skin pale and translucent; hands that had worked so hard to fight, to research, to _save._ The disease coated his fingertips, a vapor that would instantly infect any who crossed his path. He was a walking plague.

A Doctor of Death.

_They will all pay._

The old Madame, caring for Jacque, turned the corner and screamed before she began to cough, her sickly parlor growing even more swarthy. As she inhaled - her cough grew squelching in her throat - a drop of blood slipping from her lips. She crumbled to the ground trying desperately to breathe. As his power infected her, he felt it grow, spreading from his fingers to the palms of his hands.

_They will all pay._

He would draw out the heroes. He would bring them to Violet Empereur.

 _They will all feel the terrible agony of the White Plague_.

They will all pay.


	11. Doctor Death Part 3

Dropping the bag of treats on the pathway, Gaspard quickly ducked behind a large tree to transform just as a shadow brushed from overhead. Eyes zipping up sharply, he shouted her name before he could stop himself.

“Coccinelle?!”

She glanced over her shoulder, crimson feather dancing in the wind, a frown scrunching her pretty face. She twisted back to land next to his dropped sack of pastries. Her flyaway black hair brushed over her spotted tabard as she picked up the sack, confused. Blue eyes flicking around the growing darkness, she finally spied him to her right.

“Baker Boy!” She gasped. Hurrying towards him, cradling the pastries in one arm, she waved a hand with her yoyo tightly grasped in her fingers. “What are you doing here? It’s not safe! You should go home!”

Gaspard took the bag from her, but shook his head, searching for an excuse. “I can’t. I-I, uh, I have to deliver these pastries.”

She stepped up and grabbed the front of his cream shirt.

“Cocc-Coccinelle - stop! Hold on!”

Tugging him from the hedges, out the golden gate, and back to the street, he tried to fight off her unmovable gloved fingers.

Coccinelle was a lot stronger than she looked.

“There’s another monster like that flower girl from a few days ago, Baker Boy! You need to get somewhere safe! I’ll protect you!”

Letting go of his shirt, a thought crossed her blue eyes before she boldly swept her hand under his knees and he yelp as he fell backwards into her arms. Cradled with the pastries braced on his stomach, she held him close and ran through the street. Several people came out of their doors, spied through their open windows, muttering and laughing at the sight of a tall young man in the arms of a small girl in a buccaneer hat. While his face burned with humiliation, the ladybug had a determination set on her lips. She jumped swiftly to an open carriage, to an awning over a small cafe, and landed beautifully on a flat roof. She set him down gently and grabbed his shoulders - gazing up at him through her red mask.  

“Please stay here, Baker Boy. You should be safe off the ground. I’ll come and get you after the monster has been dealt with, okay?”

“Coccinelle!” he called as she let him go and strung her yoyo to a chimney two blocks away. He was left standing dumbfounded as a chilling wind brushed his meticulously smoothed hair wildly over his green eyes.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Plagg snapped, emerging from his collar. The kwami sounded both annoyed and amused at the same time.

“Where did she come from?” Gaspard frowned, his gaze turning back to Solene’s mansion. “I didn’t see her anywhere-”

“There is a time to ponder her magic tricks later!”

Shaking his head and letting his thoughts go, he nodded to Plagg.

“You’re right! _Transformez-moi!_ ”

As he leapt away, a paper flipped through the air before catching on a jutted pipe.

It was a beautifully sketched figure of a young woman. Her lovely face peeked over her shoulder, a parasol of lace covered her head, and a sly smile pressed on her full lips. Her fingers - delicately detailed - were up in a small wave of farewell.

The wind brushed sharply and the paper, sliding off the pipe, took flight into the twilight sky.

***************************

“Stupid, Baker Boy! He’s always in the wrong place!” She growled under her breath as she latched the yoyo to another building and tossed herself high above the darkening skyline.

Zipping the string to a tall pole on her left, she swung several times around it before landing on the small ledge of a factory building. It was the industrial side of the city - and also the more impoverished side.

She hadn’t ever been this far southeast down the Seine.

Her instincts focusing, the hitch in her stomach tightened.

The akuma was near.  

Glancing down, her breath caught in her throat and she fell to her knees, covering her mouth with horror.

The akuma was nowhere in sight, but clearly leaving a trail to follow.

Civilians… coughing, crawling, sickly… were collapsed in the street and along the sidewalks. Pale, damp faces. Raspy and panting. Crying in pain, in fear. Coccinelle wrapped her shaking arms around her chest. She couldn't stop watching them. Her limbs shivered, her breath tightened in her throat.  

It was just like - just like -

_The flash of raven hair spread on a pillow, streaking against pale damp cheeks. A willowy arm reaching for her one last time. Lovely eyes, once so full of life and love, faded to a dull brown to stare at nothingness. Someone carried her away from the bedside - someone with wizened hands and tear-stained cheeks…_

_“If only the fever had taken you instead of her…”_

Coccinelle jumped - her vision rocking back to reality as a black shadow suddenly appeared on her left. Chat, his green eyes narrowing at her, straightened to stand at her side. Leaping to her feet, she shot him a smile that felt wrong on her lips.

“Coccinelle-”

“Chat,” she cut him off, trying to shake away her panic. “Good to see you, tiger! Looks like we got another monster on our hands.”

She avoided the instant concern that was spreading on his handsome face. He reached out with a clawed hand, but she ducked under it, slinging her yoyo to a factory building on the other side of the street and diving. Strapping the yoyo on another pole, she followed the trail of moaning bodies - which seemed to head to northwest.  

“The akuma is headed towards the city!” she announced.

Chat followed her closely, his pole easily catapulting him at her heels. Landing on another roof with an uncharacteristically awkward stumble, she felt his arm reach and steady her. Though there was a thrilling wash of excitement at his touch, she sprang away from him, avoiding his eyes.

He blinked at her and sniffed the air. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

She let out a shrilling laugh. “Oh, nothing! Just trying to find the akuma-”

A loud cry echoed from an alleyway to their far right and she shrieked, latching her arms around his torso in a vice grip. Burying her face in his soft coat, her heart raced, her stomach knotted, and she smelled a familiar sweetness - like sugar - coming from his skin. He was warm, solid, and steady. The heat rose in her cheeks as she remembered being held in his arms the other night.

Chat’s hands were up, his shoulders were back, and he awkwardly reached down to pat her hat with clawed fingers.

“It’s alright, Coccinelle. Whatever it is, we’ll find it and save everyone, okay? Just… please let go of me.”

“But you feel so nice, tiger,” she mumbled, still shaky, but steadier. His hands dropped and he slumped in disapproval. A familiar smile spread on her lips with a wash of relief.

_She’d be okay. She had Chat. Everything would be okay because they were together._

“A girl of your age shouldn’t embrace men they don’t know. It’s improper.” The scowl was in his voice.

“We’re not strangers, you silly cat! You’re my partner.” _And you kissed me while I was asleep, so you’re one to talk_ , she added silently and a giggle slipped out.

Releasing him slowly, his blushing cheeks strengthened her confidence and she shot him a sly grin that she didn’t quite feel on the inside.

“Let’s go save the day.”

***************************

She was acting strange. Granted, Coccinelle was already bizarre, but something was wrong. Her expression was tense, her eyes shifting. Her usual coquette behavior felt forced. As soon as he’d landed beside her, Chat had smelled a tense sharpness, like a tart that had baked too long in the oven, mixing with her usual perfumed scent.

 _Fear_ , his enhanced senses told him.

Coccinelle was… _afraid_.

Was she scared of the dark? That couldn’t be it. She was perfectly fine the other night at Solene’s mansion, running around the gardens with an akuma at her heels. Maybe it was the location? She _was_ a woman and therefore probably had a fear of running into less than shady characters.

But Coccinelle was strong - stronger than most men. She’d just picked him up as Gaspard not a few minutes ago as if he was nothing more than a sack of flour.

What could possibly take away her seemingly boundless confidence?  

Coccinelle was already jumping to follow the cry that had startled her, so he didn’t have time to dwell on the mystery of his partner for long. Spinning the baton to slow his momentum, Chat rolled as he landed on the cobblestone and followed her tan hat into the dark alleyway in between two large factory buildings. Instantly, his sharp hearing caught a squelching cough coming from the darkness.

She stopped at the edge of the alleyway, her body tense, but the smile still plastered on her lips. Her blue eyes squinting through the darkness, Chat brushed past her and, through his night vision, located a squirming figure at the far back. Hurrying forward and kneeling, Chat saw it was a man - his skin pale and his brown eyes wide. He had fallen - a large metal box pinning his legs.

“Don’t worry, Monsieur. I’ll take care of this.” Chat reached inside for his power. “ _Cataclysm_!”

The box fell away to a pile of ash at his touch. Standing, he helped the man to his feet - who immediately fell to his knees as soon as Chat let him go. He coughed thickly, clutching his chest.

“Monsieur!”

Suddenly, the man glanced up over Chat’s shoulder, a brilliant sheen of terror brushing over his weakened face. Instinctively glancing behind him, his green eyes saw an open doorway.

And inside the doorway - waiting like a spider -

“ _Chat!_ ” Coccinelle’s voice hollered, and he felt a string tighten around his body - but not before a lucent cloud suddenly enveloped him. Taking a gasping breath as the yoyo pulled him off his feet and out of the alleyway, his throat seized and his lungs burned like fire.

Hitting Coccinelle, she caught him and they tumbled together into the street. She fell back, his head on her stomach, his breath struggling to push past the tightness in his chest. At once, his skin was icy cold - then boiling - like molten lava was running in his veins. His head swam, his eyes blurred. He glanced up at Coccinelle’s horrified face and tried to speak - but was followed by a terrible gasping cough.

He couldn’t breathe - couldn’t think.

His ring beeped.

“Chat!” she cried again, her arms wrapping around him. Her strong hands tight around his legs and waist, she carried him off the street.

***************************

Coccinelle knew what demons were supposed to look like. She’d been inside the Notre Dame and seen the artistic depictions of horned monsters pulling the sinners into hell. She’d read parts of The Bible when her father deemed it necessary, the descriptions of Lucifer and his minions never really giving her a fright.

Words on a page, pictures on a wall.

If she could choose what demons _really_ looked like, it would be this one pursuing her now. Robes of deepest ebony draped his large frame. His dark brim hat, covering his forehead, reminded her of a harvest reaper she’d seen in the rural parts of France. His mask: hooked like a bird’s beak, the goggled eyes of deep black, hid any and all emotion from her. It was the uncaring, the ruthlessness…

It scared her to her core.

There had been a man like this when she was a child. One who had hovered over her bed when she’d been delirious with the fever - and then later, as she recovered… he’d done the same over her mother as the sickness took her. One that had taken her mother’s blood in a large bowl. One that had put onions on her feet and stocks of rosemary on her headboard.

One that watched, with the uncaring goggled eyes, as she’d slipped away.

Coccinelle could feel the akuma’s presence on her back. He was following, coming for her.  

Chat coughed against her tabard and a redness slipped from his lips to drip on her white sleeve.

“No, Chat,” she hissed, a tight panic forcing her to keep running. “It’s going to be okay. It’ll all be okay. We are in this together, right, partner?”

That’s right. Chat depended on her now.

She couldn’t let him down. Not because of memories. No matter how painful, no matter how horrifying.  

She wasn’t Solene.

She wasn’t the tiny child watching her mother leave this world behind.

She was _Coccinelle the Vigilante!_

The streets were a maze - some doors slanted open, others locked tight. She passed crouching bodies, trembling voices. A thick burn was in her chest, but she kept running - kept going.

His ring beeped again just as she turned into a factory door on the left. Thick metallic beams, four long lanes of still conveyor belt running all the way down the large room, she rushed into a small shadowy corner behind a massive metal box and set her partner down.

Hands grabbing the sides of his face, she watched him try to blink at her, but he couldn’t seem to focus on her face. His black slit pupils were blown wide behind his mask. He coughed again, a string of blood dripping down the side of his mouth.

“Chat?” Her fingers trembled and she straddled his waist. Wiping the blood off his chin with her white sleeve, she pressed her forehead against his. His skin felt like a furnace - damp sweat sticking his blond hair to the sides of his face.  

“ _Chat!”_

Like a sixth sense, she felt it - the hitch in her stomach.

The akuma was here - had already entered the factory.

Chat’s ring beeped again.

Her blue eyes slipped off her partner’s pain-wrenched face and she stood - trusting his black suit would keep him camouflaged in the darkness. Trembling fingers clenching on her yoyo, Coccinelle stood over him protectively.

“I’ll save you, Chat. I promise. Just hold on.”

The akuma was stalking the conveyor belts - his pointed noise casually studying the machinery as if waiting for her to confront him. Slipping her yoyo over her head, it wrapped high around a rafter and pulled her onto the wooden beams above.

She had to get him away from Chat.

“Hey, birdy!” she called, her voice an echoing blast in the encompassing quiet. The akuma looked up at her sharply.

“You wanna catch me? Let’s see if you can _fly!_ ”

Whisking her yoyo, it latched through an open window and she sailed out of the factory. Glancing back, she saw the akuma successfully following her out the door, his strides careful, but quick. The pale vapor that had hit Chat in the alleyway poured from his arms and hands, sometimes covering his entire body in thick clouds of white.

Skidding to land about a block away, she spun her yoyo over her head.

“ _Lucky Charm!_ ”

***************************

The last beep fell and Gaspard slumped to the dirty floor with a terrible cough erupting from his lips. His skin felt like it was on fire, but his hands were icy cold. He shivered like winter, but sweated as if he was working the hottest oven in the bakery. His sight, without Plagg’s enhancement, was pitched into darkness.

“Kid!” The kwami’s voice echoed in the factory. “Kid! Come on! You gotta get up!”

“Pl-Plagg…?” A rough cough followed - his lungs were on fire.

“What did the akuma do to you? Kid!”

He could barely move. It hurt to think - hurt to breathe.

“You gotta get out of here!”

Gaspard coughed again - the pain racing from his chest to his throat.

“Come on, Coccinelle…” He heard Plagg whisper - a tiny paw brushing his cheek softly.

“Save my kitten…”

***************************

A small hard object landed in her right palm just as the white vapor washed over the street. Holding her breath, she tossed the yoyo and flipped back to the roof. Her eyes blurred and she could feel a sickening chill beginning to settle on her skin as the fog drifted after her. An excruciating burn hit her lungs, but she choked it back - running from roof to roof with her breath held.

Glancing at her hand, she frowned.

A padlock?

She stopped, her eyes slipping over the street below for a plan, a sign - _anything._

Her head was beginning to swim - her need to cough was growing. But if she let go of this breath, Coccinelle would get caught by the sickness. She’d get caught and die just like… like…

_No._

Think. She had to think. She couldn’t let it get the better of her. She’d driven the akuma away from Chat.

He was safe.

She could fix this.

She _had to._

_She’d promised._

Coccinelle’s vision was beginning to waver. Stumbling, she pushed the yoyo - leading the akuma further south - towards the Seine. It had grown faster - it’s sickening powers were stronger. She heard the coughing scream of another victim and the hazy vapor increased to graze her ankle as she swung away.

Within minutes, the coolness of the river brushed over her shaking limbs and sweaty forehead.

And then, she spotted it. A large storage shed jutted out of the side of a building.

Landing on the cobbled stone, she saw the white smoke of death growing closer - moving faster - the wind brushing the sickness further, spreading. Backing up, she finally let go of her breath as the akuma appeared, stepping out of the darkness like a phantom.

“You want me?” She shouted and then doubled over with a searing cough as she breathed in the fog. She backed further and further - her lungs burning, a rusty taste coating her throat. Her skin seared with fever, her fingers violently trembled - but she continued to stumble away - leading it - goating it.

“C-Come on,” she baited, wiping her lips and seeing fresh crimson staining her sleeve alongside Chat’s blood. “ _Come on!”_

The akuma stopped, his head revolving slowly to stare at the road that would lead him back to the city. Coccinelle watched as a purple shadow appeared over his mask and he nodded to himself, turning back to face her.

“Is th-that you, Violet Empereur?” Coccinelle wheezed, her blue eyes swimming. “You too scared to face me on your own? Come and get me, coward!”

She backed into the storage shed and slumped against the small crates lining the inside.

A spring of panic gripped her as the akuma suddenly ran for her - poisonous arms outstretched.

He followed her inside.

“Gotcha!”

Tossing her yoyo forward, he dodged, but she wasn’t after him. The weapon wrapped on the storage door handle and she yanked it, the door swinging with a violent _screech_. Using the yoyo’s momentum on the handle, she took a running dive and slipped past his reaching hands, and landed near the door.

Coccinelle snapped the door shut the rest of the way and latched the padlock on the lock.

She and the akuma were drenched in darkness.

The air was burning. She was falling - her mind swimming with terrible fever, but she wasn’t done yet. She could hear the akuma struggling in his mask. He grunted, his white sickness having nowhere else to go. She heard him collapsed on his knees. A muffled, sickly cough left the lips hidden behind the leather mask.

Just as she’d suspected: he gained strength the more he infected, but he was susceptible to his own powers. And with it nowhere to go-

“You-you can’t infect any-anyone else…” she rasped out. “This is… your weakness...”

Feet faltering with her weight, she staggered to the akuma, blindly snatching for the mask in the dark. Her hand grasped the long beak and she withdrew her rapier with weak fingers, slashing the long nose off. A beam of light sneaked out where she’d cut it - lighting the storage room with a flash of white for a breathless moment. He fell forward, collapsing on the ground, as the mask disintegrated off his face. Legs buckling, she plopped on his back with a grunt. She could barely see as she opened the yoyo with a shaking finger and flicked it up. The yoyo seemed to know instinctually where to go - slipping to catch the tainted butterfly - before zipping back into her hand.

The akuma released. White, pure, and lovely.

And she was crawling off the man’s back -

Back to the door -

Her trembling finger reached up to touch the padlock -

And a whisper of “ _Miraculous Ladybug_ ” left her lips.


	12. Doctor Death Part 4

The magic rushed over his body with a flurry of flawless pink light. Instantly, the burn in his chest, the iron in his mouth, and the bleariness in his eyes vanished into a gasping relief. Sight unclouding, fever washing away, Gaspard sat up - and felt a warm ball of fur cuddling at his neck before Plagg zoom away with small arms crossed and vibrant eyes indifferent.

“Plagg? Where-where… what  _happened_?”

“You’re in a factory.” Plagg’s voice was short and business-like. “Coccinelle took you here to hide you. She drove the akuma away and cleansed it.”

“ _What?!_ ” Gaspard jumped to his feet, his muscles strong and his head clear. The image of her trembling as she boldly hugged him, the dark scent of her fear tingling in his nose. The memories began to replay like a bad dream: he’d gotten caught by the akuma, fallen into her arms with delirious fever. She’d hidden him here, taken on the akuma by herself, driven the attention away from him to protect him.

She had been so scared - and yet… she’d  _saved_ him.

Running a hand through his hair, his teeth clenched with single-minded clarity and he broke into a desperate sprint out the factory door. Gaspard skidded to a halt, frantically looking left and right before a whisper of something unidentifiable pulled him south - towards the Seine. Racing down the sidewalk, he passed several civilians who were beginning to shake off their illness just like he had. Plagg slipped into his collar before anyone noticed and painfully yanked on a lock of hair near his ear.

“Kid! Where are you going? The bakery’s the other way!”

“Plagg, I gotta find her! I left her alone with the akuma! I have to make sure she’s okay!”

The tiny cat pulled harder and Gaspard hissed as several blonde hairs left his scalp.

“Forget about her! You need to get out of here! You’re not transformed anymore! Besides, her magic  _heals_ , remember? She’ll be fine!”

Gaspard stopped with a scowl, ignoring the curious looks he got from the people around him. “I still need to see if she’s okay, Plagg!”

“That’s her kwami’s responsibility! You, on the other hand, are _my_ responsibility! And your identities must remain a secret - even from each other!”

Green eyes twisting back to the south, his hands curled into fists. A thick knot tightened in his throat.

“She can handle herself. If you want to keep playing hero, we’ll bring camembert with us next time, so you can transform again. This is a hard lesson learned.”

“Alright, Plagg, I get it,” he whispered, forcing himself to turn around. A sick guilt gripped him, but he ran back northwest towards the city.

_I’ll protect you next time, Coccinelle. I promise._

*****************************

The akuma was cleansed just like before.

She’d baited him - used his own arrogance to trap his akuma.

Empereur knew he should have felt anger - frustration - vowed for revenge, but…

That _girl_.

She was a powerhouse. Exploiting the weaknesses, charging in with fearless heroics. Not only was her life on the line with this latest akuma, but she’d sacrificed herself for her partner’s safety.

Without a second thought.

Such loyalty - such brilliant devotion.

Who was this young woman with the confident blue eyes and cheeky smile?

He had to find out…

*****************************

The storage door burst opened, her earrings beeped, and she stumbled with a gasping sigh of relief - her lungs taking in the clean air gratefully. Collapsing on her hands and knees, she took a few more deep breaths before falling on her side, the gravel road pressing into her cheek and shoulder.

“I did it, Chat…” she breathed softly, the relief overwhelming.

The akumatized man followed her out, crawling on all fours and coughing. He was older, heavy-set, with a burly mustache under his thick nose. Glasses crooked, thin hair disheveled, his white facemask was crooked on his chin. He whipped it off and glanced at her with dark eyes blinking in confusion.

“Mademoiselle? Where am I? Who are you?”

She caught his eye with a smile and slowly sat up.

“I am Coccinelle - Hero of Paris. You were possessed, but I fixed it. I am incredible, aren’t I?” She gave him a wink.

“I was  _possessed?_ ” He sat back on his heels, his expression lined with bewilderment before falling distraught. “I remember… I was visiting Jacque. He’s… he’s dying… After all my research, all my hard work, the Council refused to believe me. And he’s dying for nothing...”

His head hung low, the pain tight in his eyes.

Her earrings beeped, but she ignored it, edging closer to him with concern.

“Who is Jacque?”

“My-my assistant - my friend.” He suddenly looked up at her with mustache crunching down. “Mademoiselle, how did you cure me?”

Blue eyes wide, she gave a small, nervous laugh. “Well, uhh, that’s kind of a secret, I’m afraid-”

He reached and grabbed her gloved hand, his lined face growing desperate. “You could save him, too! You have powers I’ve never heard of before! You could save Jacque! Cure him! _Please_! He’s terribly sick! Tuberculosis!”

She shuddered back.

“I’m sorry, Monsieur. My power can only heal the damage brought on by magic. If his illness is from natural causes and before you were possessed, I don’t think I can cure it.”

“Couldn’t you try-”

“I can’t!”

His mouth opened, but she cut him off. “I must leave you. I need to check on my cat-”

“Maybe if I could study you! Research your gifts!”

“I told you! It doesn’t work that way!” Wrenching her fingers out of his grasp, she jumped to her feet. A burn blossomed behind her blue eyes and she tore her gaze away from his desperation.

“But how do you know it won’t? What if you could! Would you be willing to-”

“No, Monsieur, I’m not willing,” she said shortly, zipping her yoyo off and leaping into the crisp washing wind.

 _Tuberculosis_...

No wonder it had felt so familiar.

Twisting in mid air, she landed on a jutted window sill and took deep breaths to calm herself. She may not have been able to save her mother all those years ago, but she’d saved lives this time around. She’d saved Chat. That was all that mattered. She’d beaten the disease and her beloved partner was hopefully cured.

But first, she needed to make sure.

Blue eyes flicking along the streets, she tossed the yoyo and swung to the factory where she’d left Chat behind. Skidding to the door, she rushed to the dark corner and her heart gripped tightly.

He wasn’t there. He’d ran away.

“That’s good, I guess. At least he’s okay,” she whispered - before jumping in surprise at her beeping earrings.

It was a minute of quickly flying over the streets and buildings before she entered the wealthier districts. Skidding over another roof, she swung high before dropping into a tight alleyway near her house.

Her earrings trilled insistently in her ears.

The transformation dropped, and her pink gown flashed into view, tightening her waist and snapping her spine straight. Holding out her hands, Solene caught the tiny kwami as she dropped.

“You okay, Tikki?”

“Just tired.” The red creature shot her a weak smile before her bright eyes flicked to Solene’s hip.

“Your mother’s pouch!”

Glancing down, she grinned in surprise. The corset string, tied around her waist, drooped with the weight of the two cookies inside it. Reaching, she opened the top and snagged one.

“Here - charge up, Tikki!”

“Are you transforming again? Isn’t your house just down the street?” Tikki took a large bite.

“I left Baker Boy on a roof somewhere around here. I gotta go get him.”

“Baker Boy? You mean the one who gave you the cookies? What was he doing to make you put him on a roof?”

Solene giggled. “He was in front of my house as I was leaving to take care of the akuma.”

“So, you left him on a roof?” The kwami let out an incredulous laugh. “Poor guy! He’ll never give you pastries ever again.”

“Hey, I was trying to save his life!”

Tikki hummed. “And yet the akuma was on the  _other side of the city_.”

Solene felt an unnatural blush warm her cheeks and her blue eyes danced away from the chewing kwami to the dark street outside. Why _had_ she carried him off? Now that she thought about it, her reaction hadn’t made sense. Maybe she’d just been surprised to see him. It was unexpected for Baker Boy to suddenly appear from the bushes like that. But that didn’t explain why he was hiding there in the first place. Why was he coming to hand out pastries to _her_ house of all places? The bakery was quite far, unless you could fly over the buildings like her and Chat. It must have taken him at least an hour to walk from there. And furthermore, how did he know where she lived? Was it just a coincidence that he was there?

Or maybe - a drop of strange unease filtered through her - maybe he was dropping off pastries for someone he liked.. _._

Swallowing the last of the cookie, Tikki gave her a quick smile and nod.

“I’m ready.”

“So am I,” Solene declared, eyes narrowing in determination. “Tikki, _Transformez-moi!_ ”

Her dress disappeared to the tabard. She brushed her raven hair over her shoulder and tossed her yoyo. Gliding over the streets, her blue eyes spied the flat roof she’d left him on and her heart sank. Landing, she grabbed the abandoned bag of pastries and looked around sharply.

He wasn’t here.

“Where did you go, Baker Boy?” she whispered, concern starting to bloom in her chest.

Flipping in the air and cradling the pastries, she whisked the yoyo around a pole, changing directions to follow the familiar pathway to the bakery, scanning the streets for a speck of blond hair as she went.

*****************************

Marcus Dupain paced behind the counter of his store, his large fingers crumbling his apron apprehensively. Gaspard had left that afternoon without so much as a word about where he was going. Marcus had been so preoccupied with his own thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed how late it was until he went to look for his son in his room and was unpleasantly surprised to find him not there.

There were morning pastries to make, breads to bake, and bags of flour to restock. All of that was left untouched as Marcus made another turn around the store, his eyes flicking from the backroom door to the bakery’s front.

Suddenly, a small knock at the window made him jump. Through the lanterns lit around the bakery, he spied a splash of red, a brush of tan hat, and a pale face smiling timidly at him from outside.

Hurrying, he unlocked the door and opened it.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur!” she said brightly - her vibrant blue eyes dancing around the shop behind her crimson mask. She inhaled deeply, her smile growing a touch wider. He noticed she was holding a brown sack in her hand - the ones he used for large pastry orders.

Plucking off her hat, she gave him a sweeping bow, raven locks tumbling over her shoulders.

“Allow me to introduce myself! I am Coccinelle the Vigilante! May I enter your establishment?”

“Yes, yes!” Marcus stumbled before stepping aside to let her in. “Coccinelle, of course! How may I help you?”

Skipping inside and plopping her hat back on her head, she headed to an old stool near the empty delicacies case and hopped on the seat as if she owned the place. She was just as he remembered from the other day: short, thin, and vibrant - the rapier on her hip made Marcus’s eyebrows raise a bit.

A woman with a sword. How odd.

“I am here to inquire about Baker Boy.”

Dupain’s face lit with confusion. “Who?”

Her head tilted charmingly. “Baker Boy! You know: tall, blond - he lives here, right?”

Realization came like a slap in the cheek. “Oh! You mean Gaspard! My son!”

“Gaspard?" She frowned thoughtfully. “Huh, I guess I never learned his actual name. It suits him.”

“He’s been missing since this afternoon. I’m really worried about him.”

“O-Oh, well, you see, that might be my fault?” She winced, gloved fingers twisting in her lap. “He was headed to my hou- _ahhhh_ , I mean, headed to a location I don’t know _anything_ about carrying some pastries in this sack.”

She held up the brown bag before setting it on the counter.

“How is this your fault?”

“There was another monster attack.”

Dupain’s heart seized tightly. “Oh, _Dieu_! A monster? Coccinelle, is he okay?”

She grimaced. “Actually, I kind of scooped him up and put him on a roof. I did it just to make sure he’d stay safe while I dealt with the situation. When I came back to get him, he wasn’t there. I headed here to see if he made it home. I even scanned the streets and alleyways, but I never saw him.”

Coccinelle sighed and a troubled look brushed her pretty face. The expression didn’t belong on her.

“I’m sorry, Monsieur. It’s my fault he’s missing. If I hadn’t left him-”

“You were only trying to protect him,” Dupain cut in kindly. “You are a very brave young lady - running to fight monsters and protect Paris. I never got to properly thank you for saving me the other day.”

“It’s my job.” She shrugged, but her lips were starting to curl back up. She took another deep breath and a smile of delight spread on her lips.

“It smells wonderful in here. You can even smell it from outside. I’ve had one of your pastries before. The éclairs are  _sensational._ Just sitting beside this sack is making me hungry.”

“You are welcome to whatever you want.” Marcus gestured to the bag before he caught what she’d said. “Wait, you’ve had a pastry before? When was this?”

“I stopped by a few days ago,” she answered, immediately rooting around the bag and fishing out an éclair. If it was possible, her smile turned dazzling at the sight of it.

“Oh, you did? I never saw you.”

She pointed up with the pastry. “I ordered from the roof.”

Despite Marcus’s worry, a laugh burst from him. “You and roofs! You should just come in through the front door next time, Coccinelle. I’ll give you whatever you want for free.”

Her eyes blew wide as she took a bite. Mouth full of cream, she muffled, “ _R-Really?_ For _free_? Do you have cookies?”

“They’re a day old, but you are welcome to them.”

At her excited nod, he headed around the counter to the back room. Just as he opened the small cabinet below the kneading table, the front door chimed open and he heard Coccinelle gasp.

“ _Baker Boy!_ You made it home!”

Hurrying, his relief almost making him stagger, Marcus skidded into the bakery and stopped short.

Gaspard, his blond hair shaggy and draping in his eyes, stood in his best trousers with a scowl on his face.

It was an expression Marcus rarely saw on his son.

It reminded him of the snippy comments Gaspard had made about the super heroine after the first monster attack. His animosity towards the girl was unnatural. Unwarranted. True, she’d probably made a mistake abandoning him on a roof, but she’d told him she would return. And Coccinelle had done it for his son’s safety. Honestly, Marcus was grateful the Ladybug girl went out of her way for Gaspard.

Dupain backed away to peek around the doorway.

It was probably better to just wait and watch.

“Coccinelle - what are you _doing_ here?” Gaspard asked sharply.

“I came to see if you were okay,” the girl answered, leaving the half-eaten éclair on the counter. She jumped off the stool and hurried to stand in front of him. “I said I’d come back to get you and you weren’t there.”

“You left me!” he suddenly spat.

Marcus watched her spine stiffen and his mouth dropped open in both stunned surprise and disapproval.

Gaspard had never spoken to anyone like that - _ever_.

“I-I only wanted you to be safe.”

“You just made that decision on your own without any regard to how I feel about it!?”

“Why are you so angry?”

“ _Because you left me!_ ”

She seemed to falter - her fingers clenching and unclenching, her shoulders dropping.

Marcus frowned.

There was more to those words. An underlying sense of desperation had flickered into Gaspard’s green eyes. The blond took a deep breath and brushed a hand over his forehead in obvious attempts to control his temper.

“I-I’m sorry…” she whispered. Her head lowered, hat covering her face. “I didn’t realize that it would upset you. I was just so surprised to see you and I-I guess I panicked. I don’t want you to get hurt, Baker Boy - No -” she suddenly straightened, “- _Gaspard.”_

His green eyes slipped past her to the éclair and they narrowed.

“Why are you eating that?”

“I-I-” Her blue gaze flipped over her shoulder and she winced.

“That’s not for you, Coccinelle.”

“But you left the bag on the roof! I was returning it to you!”

“By eating what was inside of it?”

Coccinelle took a step back but didn’t answer.

“Do you think you can just take whatever you want without any regard to how people will feel about it? You call yourself a hero and then steal other people’s gifts?”

“Gaspard… I’m _sorry_. I didn’t know it was a-”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he cut in.

The silence was tight between them - tension shimmering. Marcus noticed Gaspard’s anger dissolve as his good nature began to kick in. His son’s hand slipped into his back pocket and a sigh of disappointment left Gaspard’s lips.

“Coccinelle, look, I didn’t mean-”

“I can see I’ve caused you a lot trouble,” she interrupted him with a light, wavering voice. “I realize now I’ve been nothing but a pest to you. I’m sorry I’ve overstepped my boundaries. I just thought… I thought we were friends, Gaspard. I-I don’t have very many, so maybe I made a mistake in assuming something was there when it was just my own ignorance. How annoying of me, right?”

Gaspard’s mouth fell open and the hard regret was unmistakable in his eyes. Marcus’s large hand pressed against his chest as pity raced through him.

_Coccinelle..._

She swept past his son - and Gaspard let it happen, her words having frozen him in place. She opened the door but paused with a strained smile.

“Your father is very kind. I don’t want to bother him either. Please let him know I won’t be stopping by. I… I am just a burden.”

The door shut with a charming bell. Through the window, Marcus could see the Ladybug cast her yoyo to the sky and quickly whip out of sight. Stepping out from the back, he approached Gaspard, disappointment thick and hard in his stomach.

“I don’t understand why you are acting like this,” Marcus said softly.

“Acting like what?” Gaspard mumbled, but his slumped appearance told Marcus he knew exactly what he was talking about.

“You have a chip on your shoulder when it comes to Coccinelle. The way you talk about her it’s as if she’s spat in your dough. What has she ever done to you? She came all this way to see if you were safe, son. She even patrolled the streets looking for you. And you yell at her.”

A pained expression filled Gaspard’s face. “You don’t understand, Papa-”

“She called you her _friend_.”

Dupain hardly ever used his fatherly tone of voice - never really had need to - but, as Gaspard glanced at him, he injected as much as he could into every single word.

“Coccinelle is brave - and warm-hearted - and compassionate. Whatever issue you have with her, I think you need to get over it. She sounds like she doesn’t have many people she can count on. I can only imagine how hard it is to shoulder the burden of her responsibilities with no one to turn to. Those monsters, the akuma - they are _terrifying_ , son. And so _dangerous_. Coccinelle courageously puts her life on the line for the citizens of this city. For you and me.”

“I know.”

“Then you should be _honored_ to be her friend. Instead, you have driven her away. This isn’t like you. I raised you better. So what if she left you behind on a roof? She was only trying to protect you. You should be thanking her, Gaspard! Giving her whatever pastries she wants! I am _ashamed_ of you!”

Marcus could see his words hit his son hard. The green eyes flicked to the floor and Gaspard bit his bottom lip tightly. Once again, the feeling of a disconnect hit Marcus. This wasn’t the full picture - he could see it in every inch of Gaspard. There was something he was hiding - and it was the reason for all of his anger.

“What are you not telling me, son?”

Sad eyes tossed to his father and there was a brief moment - only a short second - in which Gaspard’s mouth popped open and words were on his tongue - but they halted and were swallowed back.

“Nothing, Papa. I’m just tired.”

Gaspard left, his shoes catching on a tile, and he slipped out of the bakery to thump up the stairs.

Marcus’s head dropped in doleful confusion before his dark eyes slipped back to the quiet streets outside the bakery window.

 _What was he hiding?_  

*****************************

“Here, Plagg.”

Gaspard plucked the tiny cat from his collar and set him on the pillow near his wheel of camembert. Lighting the candlestick, he spied the spread of pencils and paper and a sharp sigh left his lips.

The nightstand was still pulled to the side of his bed. Clothes from his outfit changes scattered the floor.

“What’s got your suspenders in a twist?” The kwami frowned, plucking up a slice of cheese. “You were so worried about Coccinelle earlier at the factory and when she shows up at your door you yell at her.”

“I know…” The blond exhaled. Sitting on the bed next to his nightstand, his head dropped into his hands.

“Actually, Plagg, I _don’t_ know. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

There was a silence, Gaspard watching the tiny cat eat. And then-

“She was scared.”

“Scared? Of what, the akuma?”

“I think so. She’s acted like this before - but not as badly. The akuma the other day was an older lady: a maid of Solene’s. As soon as she cleansed the akuma and freed her, Coccinelle’s confidence seemed to fall apart. She left without checking to see if the lady was okay.”

“She was transforming back, right? Maybe she had to hurry out of there.”

“We still had plenty of time. And it’s not like the timer has been an issue before. When Sara was akumatized, Coccinelle wanted to take her back home. Volunteered actually.”

“Why?”

The memory made Gaspard burn with shame. Falling back on the thin mattress, he let out a long groan, his green eyes tightly shut.

“Plagg, I think I messed up.”

“Ha, that’s a given.” The kwami smirked - snatching up another quarter of camembert.

“Coccinelle wanted to take Sara home that day so she could check on me and see if I was okay. Me as Gaspard.”

“She’s a Ladybug. They’re very loyal to those they like.”

“She was upset tonight. Something got to her - like the maid. I didn’t even bother to ask what it was though.”

“Ladybugs can also be quite private,” Plagg added around a mouthful.

“And then she took on the akuma by herself. Somehow, she found the courage to face whatever frightened her and save me. I… I could have _died_ tonight if not for her. I could have _died_...”

The realization sent chills down his arms and legs, the memory of the terrible burn in his chest, the liquid iron in his throat, his head pounding deliriously.

“I almost told Papa, Plagg. I almost told him I was Chat…”

The tiny cat’s ears drooped.

“Being Chosen is a tough responsibility, kid. It’s not always going to be easy. You did the right thing by not telling him.”

Gaspard’s throat was tight. “But what if Coccinelle hadn’t stopped the akuma and I actually _died_? Papa would… he would be left all alone with no idea where I’d gone. He’d be waiting - hoping I’d come home - and I never would. It’d be so much easier if he just _knew_. Papa would help me. He’d understand why I needed money, or to leave randomly, or - I don’t know!”

“Sometimes it makes the parents of a Chosen overprotective to the point that they forcefully take away the Miraculous. This has happened before, and a Guardian has had to step in.”

Green eyes flicked to the green slits of his kwami. “Papa isn’t like that-”

“You never know, kid.”

Gaspard released a low breath. “After Coccinelle saved my life, I… I was so relieved? Grateful? There doesn’t seem to be a strong enough word for it.”

“I would think ‘appreciative’ is a little stronger - or maybe ‘indebted’. Still doesn’t explain why you got so angry at her though.”

“I was… I felt…” Gaspard pictured her cheerful blue eyes underneath that ridiculous tan hat. “I _was_ happy when I saw her, but then, it suddenly made me feel so much worse instead of better. Here I was, running like an idiot through the streets of Paris, and here she was - sitting in the bakery, perfectly calm and poised as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t left me to fight the akuma by herself. She was so… _normal_ , eating the éclair, smiling at me. I got angry and I couldn’t stop myself. Thank _Dieu_ , she mistook my outburst for leaving Gaspard on a roof and not for leaving Chat at the factory. And seeing her eating the pastries I’d wrapped for Solene - I just… I lost my temper. And _speaking_ of Solene, I lost the drawing, Plagg.”

A bitter laugh left his throat and he pushed back the burning tears of self-pity as his gaze flicked on the papers and pencils next to him.

“Why did I ever think a stupid drawing would impress a lady like _her?”_

“Isn’t ‘a picture a poem without words’?” The kwami drawled.

“I was just fooling myself.”

“Perhaps you were.”

“And Coccinelle? She deserves a better partner than me-”

“I think what she deserves is a heartfelt apology, but that’s just me,” Plagg injected - blinking tightly at Gaspard. “You have some issues, kid, and I think the heart of it lies with how you feel about yourself.”  

The boy sat up. “What do you mean?”

“You just said it.” Plagg gestured to him. “You think she deserves a better partner. You’re not angry at her at all, are you? You’re angry at yourself.”

Gaspard winced as the words hit home, but Plagg wasn’t done.

“Regardless of how you feel about it, you have to keep in mind the two of you are partners. She needs you as much as you need her. Ever stopped to consider _why_ she was able to fight the akuma even though she was so scared of it?”

The black kwami waited for a moment, but the dumb look of confusion didn’t leave Gaspard’s face.

“She did it because she wanted to save you, idiot! The fact that your life was on the line drove her to face her fears.”

Gaspard’s green eyes slipped from Plagg to trail down to the floor in frozen surprise.

“I royally screwed up, didn’t I?”

“Heh, yeah, I’d say that about sums up tonight in a nutshell.”

“How am I going to fix this?”

“I’m not here to tell you how to live your life, remember?”

A hard knot of self-loathing and irritation raced across Gaspard’s handsome features and Plagg rolled his eyes to the heavens.

“Never before have I had a needier kitten than you, kid,” the kwami sighed. “Look, drawbacks are going to happen from time to time. The main thing you’ve got to remember: like it or not, Coccinelle is your Ladybug. She’ll take care of you and you’ll take care of her. This is how it works. You gotta to get over yourself and stop being so annoying. You’re going to make mistakes, but she will, too. It’s making up for those shortcomings that makes you the perfect team. So, give her a pastry, grovel at her boots and apologize already.”

A thin smile slipped on Gaspard’s lips as his heart rose. “Well, aren’t you full of sage advice tonight?”

“You keep bringing out the annoying preachy side in me. It’s pretty pathetic when I, the Miraculous of Destruction, have to step in and fix your problems.”

Reaching over, Gaspard gave the small kwami a tiny grateful pat on the head before he could stop him.

“Thanks, Plagg.”

*****************************

Stepping into the house, the quiet was thick and suffocating. Villemin took a deep breath before stepping down the hallway to the mahogany door.

The way Jacque’s progression had deteriorated so rapidly, there was a chance he wouldn’t survive the night.

So, Villemin would keep going for him.

Eyes clenching behind spectacles, he knew if only he could study the Ladybug girl that an answer would appear. There had to be some hints, some clues, as to how her magic worked.

Power that strong _had_ to be tested. For the good of mankind.

What was her power’s origins? Where had it come from? Were there others just like her secretly scattered throughout the generations? Were there more just like her running around today?

He only had to follow the clues - the links within history - he’d find his answers. He knew he’d find his key.

Follow the pattern. Follow the stories weaved within the tales of time.

Placing a hand on the door, Villemin closed his eyes to steady himself and entered the quiet, desolate room.

*****************************

She didn’t go home when she left the bakery.

That bitter palace was the last place she wanted to be.

Swinging over the quiet, empty streets, she flicked the yoyo far, tossing herself into the wind blindly. The night air washed through her raven hair, billowed out her red tabard dress, and pulled against her hat.

Chills rose on her arms and legs, but she kept casting the yoyo further - swinging higher.

 _Escaping_.

The taste of the éclair was still shamefully on her lips, the sweet sugar growing morose in her mouth.

Her gaze flicked sharply to the Eiffel Tower in the distance - it’s presence like a silent, sentient giant stretching from the earth. Immediately, she rushed to it, her hand casting the yoyo with a desperation building tightly. Swinging over the black waters of the Seine and latching the yoyo to the dark Tower, she glided to the second floor and staggered her landing, her boots clattering against the metal.

Her blue eyes burned, her body felt cold - frozen and pulled taut like a string. Coccinelle fell to her knees and clenched her eyes shut. Her stomach cramped, her head pounded, and her arms wrapped tightly around her chest.

Why was it hurting so badly? Why was something so simple as Baker Boy’s words cutting her like the sharpest knives?

_Why?_

_Why?_

She was better than this! Stronger! She was Coccinelle the Vigilante! She was quick, and powerful, and… and…

“ _No…_ ” she whimpered through clenched teeth, her throat tightening. Her heart was thunder in her chest - her ears.

“I _won’t…_ I _won’t_ cry…”

Opening her eyes, she forced herself to stare at her beautiful city - the small houses intermingling with the shops and factories. The poor, the rich, the destitute, the loved - all together in this place called Paris.

Somewhere out there was her beloved Chat, probably asleep in his bed without a care in the world.

Did he wonder if she was safe? Was he able to brush off the chilling horrific realization that they’d almost died tonight?  

They almost _died._

_They almost died._

She was trembling, but her eyes remained dry - her firm gaze never straying from the sleeping city. She was burning, but she was so cold.

The terrible taste of the akuma’s disease…

The masked doctor’s pursuit like a relentless revenant from her past...

Chat’s bloodstained lips...

Baker Boy’s anger-

It _burned._ It _froze._

It _hurt._

 _No_. _Lock it in!_  

With a growl leaving her throat - she forced herself to stand and whisked the rapier out of its scabbard at her hip. Coccinelle straightened her shoulders and let her mental stone wall slam on the fear, the pain, the isolation. They howled at her barrier, but she added more mortar, more bricks, stacking it higher, forcing it to thicken until the cold had all but left her body.

That’s right!  

She wouldn’t be beaten! Angry words would never touch her! Fear didn’t exist! Isolation was all in her head!

She had Paris!

“I promise you!” Coccinelle shouted, her voice whipped away by the howling wind. “I will save you - _continue_ to save you - _all of you_ \- until I die!”

Lashing the blade up, she saluted her city, her heart no longer hard and twisting, but glowing with ignited courage.

The fears were controlled.

The pain was gone.

_“You don’t pay for gifts."_

A crack appeared in her wall, causing her to falter.

Coccinelle instantly threw more against it.

And ridded herself of Gaspard's laughing face and kind green eyes.


	13. Veiled Empress Part 1

Gaspard’s bare feet stomped a circle around his room, his mind racing with ideas. He hadn’t slept well, his dreams filled to the brim with Coccinelle’s pain-filled eyes and the scent of her fear.  
  
_“She sounds like she doesn’t have many people she can count on."_    
   
The words made the guilt sour in his stomach.

Despite what Plagg had said yesterday, Gaspard knew Papa had his back if it ever came out that he was a Hero of Paris. Papa was supportive, understanding, and - though he’d be worried - he’d trust Gaspard to know what was best.    
  
It must be a completely different situation for Coccinelle. He knew next to nothing about her personal life and how she handled being a hero - only that she loved it. She’d confessed as much when she’d come for cookies on his rooftop.  
  
As if on reflex, Gaspard’s green eyes slipped to the window - not wanting to admit the disappointment that crept inside at the lack of red tabard and tan hat.  
  
But that posed the question: who could Coccinelle be outside the mask? Did he know her? Had he seen her before in passing? Was she someone who frequented the bakery? She’d said she’d learned from talks that the Dupain pastries were the best in Paris - but how did she hear about it? What if she looked completely different untransformed? His features altered when he became Chat - maybe it was more so for Coccinelle.  
  
Brushing his ponderings aside, there was one thing that was absolutely certain: Gaspard had to change. No matter how flirty or inappropriate Coccinelle was, he needed to be there for her.  
  
They were in this together after all.  
  
“I’m someone she can count on, Plagg. I have to prove that to her. I can’t let her down anymore. I want to be her friend - as both Chat and Gaspard. So now I gotta figure out how to fix it.”    
  
“Why did I have to get stuck with a morning person?” The kwami complained from the pillow.  
  
“I can’t expect her to come here,” Gaspard reasoned, completely ignoring his groaning kwami. He circled to his door and turned back around to pace to his chest of drawers.  
  
“That would mean the next time I see her will be as Chat during an akuma attack. This is saying that she’ll stick around long enough for me to talk to her. But I clearly can’t talk to her about how sorry I am without revealing I’m Gaspard and-”  
  
“You’re making me dizzy.” Plagg scowled. “Just calm down for a second, will ya?”  
  
“I can’t calm down. I have to set things right.” He walked to the window and crossed back to the bed once more. “Maybe I could tell her - as Chat - that I know Gaspard in real life and that he’s talked about her and he’s so sorry for what he said-”  
  
“Ugh,” Plagg groaned.  
  
“Or maybe I could get myself in trouble as Gaspard - throw myself in the Seine and wait for Coccinelle to come rescue me.”  
  
“That idea is terrible. The only reason you two are able to stop the akuma so quickly is because you both feel the magic when it’s activated. Regular everyday problems are harder to track down. You’ll just be drowning yourself for no reason. I can promise you I won’t be helping out. Cats hate water, remember?”  
  
“Maybe we can set a time to patrol together - just so I can talk with her more. Keep an eye on danger _and_ get to know her.”  
  
“Why the sudden big interest in Coccinelle? Just apologize when you see her next and be done with it.”  
  
“But I can’t wait that long! I have to fix my mistakes while I still have a chance!”” Gaspard groaned, running his fingers through his tangling blond hair. “This is driving me crazy!  
  
“I can relate.” The tiny cat blinked pointedly. “Okay, kid, calm down before you work yourself into a state. Let’s just wait until the next akuma attack and figure out your plan from there. With the way they’re cropping up, you’ll see her in no time.”  
  
“That’s a good point,” the blond agreed before a knock at his door made him jump. Opening his shirt collar, Plagg immediately slipped inside.  
  
“Gaspard? What are you doing up here?” His father’s voice muffled from the door.  
  
“Getting ready, Papa,” the blond called, snatching his apron from his bedpost and tying the strings around his waist. Gingerly plucking up a piece of camembert, he made a face as he dropped it into his apron.

Stinky or not, he’d definitely learned his lesson.    
  
The older Dupain’s melancholy dark eyes took in Gaspard’s disheveled appearance as soon as the door opened and a small smile of understanding brushed his father’s lips.  
  
“Come on down, son. We’ve only got another hour or two before we open and there’s a ton of work to do.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Gaspard nodded.  
  
Following him down the stairs, his father stopped on the last step and turned to him with a careful expression.  
  
“I think I understand what happened last night.”  
  
“You do?” Gaspard quirked an eyebrow.  
  
His father reached up to pat Gaspard on the shoulder. “You’re holding back your true feelings, son. You just need to work some things out. Coccinelle is a wonderful girl. I’m sure she’ll forgive you if you just apologize to her. Or give her a gift. I can spare a few more coins from the drawer.”  
  
Lips falling open, eyes wide, Gaspard could only gape as the older man shot him a knowing smile.  
  
Inside his collar, Plagg snickered quietly.  
  
“These kinds of feelings are hard for us Dupains. When we find the one we love, we fall hard and fast. Almost like lightning. It’s just in our nature.” His father laughed. “Then, we proceed to bumble and flounder around them. We even act irrational - like how you were last night. You are not an angry person, Gaspard. That’s not you. So, before you see Coccinelle again, you should sort out why you lashed out at her. Trust me, once you figure it out…”  
  
His father’s dark eyes grew sad, but the smile had yet to leave.  
  
“Just don’t take too long. You never know when she’ll be taken away from you.”  
  
His father turned and Gaspard watched him go.  
  
“Things are getting really mixed up, Plagg,” he breathed.  
  
“No kidding,” the kwami chuckled.  
  
**********************************

Solene’s cerulean eyes blurred on the page in Treasure Island and she realized she’d read the same sentence for the past two minutes. Taking a deep breath, she tried to concentrate again, but her thoughts continued to wander away from her imagination. She shut the book with a snap and let out a despondent sigh.

Rolling out of the thick coverlet, she padded to the window and glanced through the iridescent curtains at the bleak morning. Carriage traffic rolled past the golden gate, the gardeners trimmed the manicured hedges, even the people walking by seemed completely unperturbed by the recent monster attacks.

It was all so irritatingly wonted.

She’d woken well before dawn, her restless mind giving her disturbing nightmares of black butterflies and masked doctors. She’d dreamed of Chat, his handsome face clenched in pain, a trickle of crimson dripping from his lips.

Even Baker Boy had made an appearance - his irritated scowl haunting her subconscious more than she cared to admit. Despite her stone wall built against him, it hadn’t been able to protect her from her dreams.

But now, with the morning breaking to a stormy day, Solene cleared her thoughts of him and turned away from the window. Plopping on the cushion in front of her vanity mirror, she sighed again - this time at her tired eyes and tangled hair.

It was a new day - and it promised to be a very stressful one.

Today, her father was going to meeting with the reporter from _Le Temps._ Apparently, word of the akuma attack last night hadn’t spread far enough to stop the slanderous gossip smeared by the Bourgeois. Solene had to think positive. It was only a matter of time. The industrial district would start talking and the media would flock for stories of the Heroes of Paris. Once that happened, everything would smooth over.

Maybe. Hopefully.

Perhaps Solene could show up as Coccinelle and make a statement - but then it’d call into question how she knew about the Bourgeois’s false claims. It’d hit way too close to home. But… telling everyone she was both Coccinelle _and_ Solene Montilyet would probably stop this once and for all. A hero’s family wouldn’t attack the city she was trying so desperately to save.

But _then_ that’d only plunge her into danger. With everyone knowing who she really was, Solene would risk not only Tikki getting stolen or her father’s safety, but possibly put Chat in danger as well.

If only she could figure out who Violet Empereur really was. Expose him for his crimes and take back the Miraculous he was misusing. What was he trying to accomplish with these akumas? What would drive someone to cause so much damage and destruction? Manipulating human minds to do their bidding.

It was a scary power.

Arms wrapping around her torso, a shiver crept down her spine - a dark foreboding chill.

He could be anyone - hiding in plain sight.

Even Baker Boy...

“Are you okay, Solene? You’ve been awfully quiet this morning.”

Giving her little friend a smile to cover her apprehension, Solene nodded her head and picked up her brush to try taming her wild raven locks.

“I’m alright - I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

She bit her lip in contemplation. “Tikki, what do you know of Violet Empereur’s kwami?”

The crimson creature blinked thoughtfully. “Nooroo? He’s rather shy for a kwami. What he lacks in physical strength, he makes up in support.”

“Support?”

“You could say he sees the best in people. His powers are supposed to enhance that trait. He creates a temporary hero.”

“Like the akuma?”

“Precisely. However, since the power is being used for selfish reasons, it taints his gift. He’s creating monsters instead. Usually, Nooroo is used as a last resort and is only called when we need the tide of battle to swing in our favor. So, for him to be used so often-” Tikki’s kind eyes glimmered with sadness, “-he must be exhausted.”

“What could be Violet Empereur’s goals in trying to destroy Paris?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Solene.”

The raven-haired girl set her brush down, biting her lip with worry.

“I wish there was someone I could talk to. Someone who could tell me more about the Miraculous and why this is happening. Who gave you to me? And why?”

Tikki’s eyes shifted away, but Solene didn’t notice.

“Father is having to defend our family honor against claims that we are responsible for the akumas,” she continued with a dark laugh. “Little do they know, I’m the one who _saves_ Paris from them. I’ve got to find Violet Empereur before he hurts anyone else - including my family’s reputation.” Her chin dropped into her hand. “I just don’t know where to start looking for him.”

Tikki sighed quietly. “Things have gotten quite messy, huh, Solene?”

“Quite,” she agreed.

Marjoline arrived at her door only ten minutes later - dutifully dressing her in a simple cream puff dress with lace-collar that flared off her shoulders. Thick hair wrapped in a high bun, Solene grabbed her mother’s pouch and ignored her aged maid’s curious glance at it. Heading down the grand staircase for breakfast, she walked past the front parlor and noticed her father standing at the window staring the busy street outside their gate.

Dressed in his finest navy and gold lining coat, along with tight trousers and wispy layered lapel, his back was abnormally straight with shoulder's tense. Her eyes glanced at the Montilyet family saber strapped to his belt.

Hoping he wasn’t going to stab the reporter if something went wrong, she passed him and tried to shoot him an encouraging smile.

He never looked her way, his blue eyes engrossed with thoughts she couldn’t begin to translate.

 _Just as well_ , she inwardly chided, _he looks like he’s in a crabby mood - only now he’s armed._

Breakfast wasn’t quite as lonely as it usually was. Though there was a maid standing near the back door, she was far enough that the open pouch in Solene’s lap wasn’t visible over the table top. Dropping sections of a sugar roll into it, Tikki grinned up at her with her crimson cheeks full.

“Want more of the chocolate scone?” she asked the kwami quietly - who nodded happily in reply.

She’d just ripped off a piece when the door suddenly swung open and a new, young manservant hurried through. Dropping the entire scone quickly into the pouch, she closed up Tikki and immediately wiped all matter of joy off her face. Sitting up properly in her chair, she shot him her best ‘what is the meaning of this?’ frown.

The tall servant huffed tightly. “My apologies for disturbing you, Mademoiselle Montilyet, but you have a visitor.”

The dread was instant.

_Not Albert - not Albert - please, sweet Dieu - not Albert -_

“ _Don’t you know who I am? I will_ not _wait in the front parlor! I demand to speak to Solene!_ ” The familiar haughty tone echoed down the hall.

“Oh, _merde_ , it’s _Claudette,_ ” Solene groaned. The manservant gave a look of surprised before his lips curled with a touch of amusement. He backed away to stand against the wall - a supervisor for the incoming storm.

Sure enough, a whisk of blonde curls, a brush of a yellow flower-patterned skirts, and the familiar arrogant scowl of the young Bourgeois appeared at the doorway. Standing and setting her pouch with Tikki in it next to her plate, Solene put on her most patient expression.

“Claudette, how wonderful to see-”

“Save it, Montilyet!” Claudette snapped, stomping around the table’s corner to glare at her. “We both know that a reporter is here for a statement about the monster attack! And your father is just going to spin lies and open his wallet to hush it up!”

“I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about,” Solene said swiftly, blinking her eyes with a trace of boredom. “Who my father entertains is no concern of mine. And I have no recollection of a monster attack here.”

“I have let our entire social circle know about your family’s guilt! Even Bernard-”

“What you claim cannot be proven,” Solene cut in calmly. “We have nothing to do with the attacks on Paris.”

“You are a liar!”

Her good countenance broke: “ _Excuse_ _me_ , you would do well to remember your _manners_ , Claudette Bourgeois! You have marched into my house uninvited and berated me during my breakfast! You want to speak of attacks, I’ll let everyone know you have a nasty habit of disturbing the peace!”

The realization hit the girl and her pale cheeks blushed brightly.

Sensing this might be a chance for damage control, Solene straightened her shoulders.

The next words came hard and reluctant.

“Your fiery temper must be because you are hungry, my friend. I simply cannot allow you to continue this way on an empty stomach. Please come join me at the breakfast table. The scones are simply divine this morning.”  

The Bourgeois’s blue eyes slipped to the stacks of pastries and she moved to sit down in the chair beside her with a huff.

“Since I’m here, I guess I will - but this doesn’t change anything, Montilyet!”

Across the room, she caught the manservant’s eye and made a face of disgust behind Claudette’s back.

He lifted a hand to hide his smile - his hazel eyes twinkling merrily.  
  
**********************************

The morning rush was over, Marcus Dupain was busy in the backroom, and Gaspard found himself sitting on the stool near the delicacies case with a forgotten rag dangling from his fingertips. Lost in thoughts, he didn’t even notice Sara entering through the front door.

A look of pity brushed her features. Setting her flower basket next to the window, she tiptoed to her distracted friend and leaned in his ear-

“ _Flower for your thoughts?”_

“Whoa!” He sprang from the stool and flipped to the counter - crouching like a frightened cat. Legs bent, back arched, he stared down at her with a wild gaze before he realized who she was.

“ _Sara!_ ”

“A bit on edge, aren’t we?” she chuckled. “I didn’t know you were that flexible. Like a cat.”

“I-I-uh…” He cleared his throat and leaped down from the counter, heat racing up his neck. “You scared me, that’s all.”

Hands clasping in front of her, she blinked expectedly up at him and he frowned.

“What?”

“What do you mean, _‘what’_? How did it go? Did you draw the picture yet? Did you give it to her? Can I see it?”

He sighed. “No, Sara… I…” he stopped for a moment - a hard knot appearing in his throat. “I lost the drawing.”

“ _Lost_ it?” She blinked in disbelief. “ _How_?”

Gaspard groaned lightly before settling back down on the stool, his back stooped in defeat. “Well, I drew the picture yesterday and I was headed to her house with some pastries…”

“ _And_...?” she coaxed.

He pressed his lips together for a moment.

“One of the Heroes of Paris stopped me.”

Sara’s brown eyes went impossibly wide. “A Hero of Paris!? You’ve met one of them? Which one?”

“I-I, yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “it was Coccinelle.”

“ _Coccinelle_!” she repeated, her face shining in awe. “No way! You are so _lucky_ , Gaspard! Do you know how many people wish to catch a glimpse of her? And you actually got to speak with her! What happened next? What did she say? Is she as beautiful as everyone says?”

“Coccinelle came flying by and spotted me. She told me to be careful before putting me on a roof," he sighed, but a small smile appeared on his lips, Now that it was all said and done, it was actually kind of funny. 

"And then what?"

"She left me there.”

Sara grinned with a laugh. “She left you on a _roof_? How long were you stuck there?”

He blushed and rolled his eyes. “I wasn't stuck. I figured out a way down, but-

“She told you to be careful? Was there a possession last night? Where was it? Was it near where your princess lives? I can’t believe Coccinelle picked you up! I bet it is so much fun swinging around the city with her.”

The words tumbled out of Sara’s mouth, but his throat was constricting. It was all rushing back to him - the burn in his lungs. The pounding fever. The cold. The shaking fear. Coccinelle’s arms holding him tightly. Coccinelle driving the akuma away. Saving him.

Protecting him.

They could have died.

_They could have died._

“I think so,” he finally answered, his voice rough.

Sara stopped for a moment, her eyes narrowing perceptively as she looked at his face.

“Then I guess the rumors are true.”

“Rumors?” he asked, still shaking the chills away.

She swatted him on the bicep good-naturedly. “Oh, come on! Even you’re not _that_ blind. You’ve seen the new faces around the bakery lately. Everyone knows she’s been spotted around here multiple times. And the fact that she saved you just makes things even better for business! You should spread the rumor that she’s your bakery’s patroness!”

The absurdity of that statement made him snort. “ _Patroness?_ She’s hardly a patroness considering she hasn’t paid for anything! She’s like a stray for free food.” _Or was_ , he thought suddenly with a shot of guilt.

“I wish I could meet her!” The starry look in his friend’s eyes clearly showed how much she wasn’t listening.

“Weren’t you possessed and cured at the tower?”

“I didn’t get the chance for a conversation as I turned people into flowers, Gaspard,” she replied with a touch of cheek in her voice. “I would do anything to meet her again. I hope she doesn’t think I’m an evil person.”

“Knowing Coccinelle, I’m sure that’s the last thing she’d think,” he said softly, plucking a string from his apron absentmindedly. “She’d probably like to meet you, too. Coccinelle is really kind. And smart. And brave. And cheerful.”

“And _pretty?_ ” Sara added, watching his warm expression with interest.

He blinked, his cheeks flushed, and he shot Sara a hard scowl. “But she isn’t proper.”

“How can you expect her to be proper if she’s saving your behind all day?” Sara laughed, and his scowl darkened. “Cut her some slack. It’s not like I’m some proper lady either. We don’t know who she really is underneath that mask. She might be a pauper or a foreigner-”

“But her dress is so short-”

Sara shrugged. “Handy for the kind of fighting she does.”

“She has a sword.”

“Which she uses to her advantage - so I’ve heard.”

“She’s too flirty.”

“Since when did you become such a prude?” the redhead smirked. “Girls flirt with you all day at the bakery.”

“I don’t respond to them.”

“And yet you think Coccinelle’s _really kind, smart, brave, and cheerful_?”

He sighed loudly and tossed the rag on the counter. “Sara, what are you trying to accomplish by berating me about Coccinelle? Do I like her as a person? Of course, I do, but you’re fishing for something.”

“Fishing?” Sara chimed innocently, but those brown eyes gleamed. “I’m not fishing. I simply find it strange that you are the only one in Paris who _doesn’t_ think the Heroes are angels sent from God to protect us from demons.” She crossed her arms, with a brush of a thought. “You’re not just covering up the fact that _she’s_ your _princess_ , right?”  

His mouth popped open incredulously before he laughed - loudly. “Sara, _where_ did you get an idea like that? - No! No-no, my princess is certainly _not_ Coccinelle! That’s absurd!”

She gave him a short nod, but something remained unconvinced. “Alright, I believe you. Besides, if Coccinelle was your princess, I’d have to bow out being your personal cupid. You’re great, Gaspard - don’t get me wrong, but Coccinelle is a _Hero of Paris_. That’s like asking me to give you the sun.”

Turning on toe, she headed to the front door and bent down to pluck up her basket. She stopped, her finger hovering over a crimson chrysanthemum for a brief moment before she picked the flower by the stem and hurried back with it in tow.

Holding the lovely flower out to him, she said, “I may be a simple flower girl, but I like to think I’ve got my eyes open. ‘Kind, smart, brave, and cheerful’, huh? Ever wonder why Coccinelle is seen around your bakery so much? Why she seems to gravitate towards you? I’m sure she doesn’t just put a _simple baker_ on the roof to protect him.”

He frowned - but there was a hitch in his stomach. “Sara, what-”

“Just give it a thought. Perhaps you won't even need my help spelling things out for you all the time.”

Setting the flower on the counter beside him, she turned and left through the front door - the bakery tingling shut behind her.


	14. Veiled Empress Part 2

The clouds rumbled angrily outside the tall windows of the back-living room. The gardens, where she and Chat had fought Lady Nightmares, tossed and turned with the brewing storm. Considering her father was probably still with the reporter, Solene had figured it was the best course of action to keep Claudette Bourgeois as far away from his office as possible.

So that meant, teacup held forgotten in her fingertips and eyes staring blankly at the flower-printed wallpaper behind Claudette’s head, she dutifully shouldered the burden of enduring the never-ending stream of insulting chatter that dripped from the blonde’s lips.  

“-And then he was asking about what the monster looked like and I told him it was clearly the spirit of your dead mother who was seeking revenge on my family for our climb in high society. That’s the only reason she’d make me dream about you stealing Bernard away from me. Oh, speaking of Bernard, did I tell you the wonderful news?”

Claudette grabbed Solene’s forearm excitedly and the raven-haired girl almost spilled her tea in surprise. Successfully snapped back to reality, Solene wasn’t sure how to respond after not listening for a solid ten minutes.

“Is it dull?”

Claudette clicked her tongue. “Of course, it’s not dull! The Abelin’s are attending the opening night of the newest opera at Théâtre Lyrique! It’s called _Esclarmonde!_ I got daddy to get me the scripts, so I would know _everything_ about it when they ask us to attend with them. We will have the boxed seats adjacent to _Jules Massenet!_ Just think of it! Everyone will be so jealous of me!”

Solene brightened up. An opera. This was actually pretty interesting.

“There’s a new opera? Bernard asked you to go?”

“Well… he hasn’t said anything yet - but who else would he ask? He spent the entire evening at my side at our last social gathering. He’s so obsessive, it’s adorable. Anyway, the Abelin’s own a box on the left side of the stage. It’s a perfect setting for him to confess his feelings for me.”

The raven-haired girl held back her eye roll and steered the conversation to what she really wanted: “What’s the opera about?”

Claudette clasped her hands at her chest and sighed.

“It’s frightfully romantical. Esclarmonde is a Byzantine Empress who is in love a Count named Roland. They are from different countries and she believes they can never be together. So, she casts a spell to meet him every night on a magic island, hiding her true identity from him with a veil. He falls in love with her despite never seeing her true face or knowing her real identity.”

“He _does_?” The image of Chat, his handsome face close, his lips nearly touching hers flashed into her mind and she had to blink away the distracting memory as Claudette continued.

“She learns later that his country is in danger and gives him a magic sword that will defeat anyone who challenges him as long as he remains faithful to her. Roland wins against the people attacking his country and the King of France gives his daughter to be Roland’s bride. He refuses because of his love for the veiled woman, but is soon pressured to give a reason why he said no. He eventually confesses that every night he meets an enchantress on an island and, that night, when she goes to meet him, Esclarmonde is surrounded by priests and monks. They rip off her veil and expose her identity.”

A small gasp escaped Solene’s lips and she instantly thought of her own mask.

How horrible.

“Esclarmonde is betrayed by Roland and, even though he uses the magic sword to fight and protect her, it shatters into pieces. She is taken back to her kingdom. Her father hears about her love for Roland and forces her to renounce him or he’ll execute him. Roland meets her one last time and pleads for her hand. She begs Roland to forget about her and move on with his life.”

“And then what happens?” Solene asked breathlessly. Claudette, enjoying the rarity of Solene’s full attention, tossed her shoulders and leaned forward dramatically.

“A tournament is held where the victor will get Esclarmonde’s hand in marriage. A young man, dressed in all black, wins every challenge. When asked what his name is, he says, ‘Despair’. Then, he walks straight to Esclarmonde, removes the veil from her head and declares her his true love. She recognizes his voice as Roland - her beloved. Since he won the tournament, he rightfully gets her hand in marriage. They declare their love to the world - and that’s how it ends.”

“Wooow… _Si romantique..._ ” Solene sighed - her thoughts immediately returning to a certain black-cladded cat. A lovely picture of him feverishly fighting for her hand in marriage made her cheeks blush scarlet.

_Albert Pernell holding her hostage at the altar, her wedding dress crumbled, but still beautiful. Chat, his green eyes rushing with desperation - adoration - storming in to save the day-_

“I know, right? Incredibly fitting for Bernard to confess his love for me during this play. It matches us so perfectly. I’m just like Esclarmonde-” Claudette threw her arm over her forehead in a swoon, “-a tragic damsel keening for her love from afar. With this invitation, it’s as if Bernard is practically proposing-”

“Mademoiselle Montilyet, you’ve received a message,” a low voice interrupted - the young manservant from this morning. Claudette scowled as he entered through the door, a tray balanced on his fingertips. It was a small white envelope. Setting her teacup on the table and catching his green-hazel eyes curiously, Solene plucked up the note from the tray, gently easing it open.

 

 _My Dear Mademoiselle Solene Montilyet_  
_We would be honored if you and your father would join us tomorrow evening for the newest opera by Jules Massenet entitled "Esclarmonde" premiering at Théâtre Lyrique._  
_Refreshments at our estate will be served prior to the show. I can guarantee all manner of high society will be present. We will be attending our box seats at the Théâtre._  
_There is something I wish to discuss with you privately._  
_I eagerly await your reply._  
_Cordially,  
_ _Bernard Abelin the Fourth_

 

The message was nicely crafted with flourish of cursive swirls. Someone must have written it for him.

Eyes wide, mouth popping open, Claudette snatched the note from her as Solene’s astonished brain worked to catch up on what was happening. Bernard Abelin asked her to go to the opera.

Bernard had asked _her_.

And not Claudette.

To see the romantic _Esclarmonde._

And to speak with her… _privately..._

She bit her lip hard as the blonde skimmed through the note, her expression of shock morphing into pure, unadulterated venom.

Outside, thunder boomed - rattling the china cabinet against the wall.

“What… what is… How is...?” She fumbled the words, blue eyes practically glowing red. “Why is… _why_?” 

Solene tucked away her glee and smoothed her face into one of surprised concern. “Your guess is as good as mine, my friend. I thought you said he was asking _you_ to the opera. Maybe he made a mistake.”

“He was… he _is…_ That’s what… I…”

“I will draft a reply for Monsieur Abelin as soon as my dear Claudette departs,” she said kindly to the manservant, snatching the note from Claudette’s frozen fingertips and placing it gently on his tray.

Good humor was laced in his expression as he nodded politely and moved to stand against the wall.

Claudette stood, yellow skirts swishing, and fair face suddenly falling uncharacteristically expressionless.

Solene was on her feet as well with mock concern on her lips. “My friend, are you feeling well? You look ill-”

“I came here with good intentions,” Claudette hissed and the snort that left Solene was too loud to cover up. “You have thrown my extended olive branch right in my face.”

“What olive branch?” The raven-haired crossed her arms, dropping all manner of politeness. “Claudette, you have spent the entire visit insulting my household, my deceased mother, and flaunting your social status in my face. There is no ‘olive branch’. I have only entertained you just now because that is what is proper.”

“What is _proper_ is saying no to Bernard’s invitation!” Claudette snarled.

“I haven’t decided if I will go or not.” Solene smirked.

“Liar! I know you’re going to accept!”

“If I do or do not, it is of no concern to you.”

“Bernard is _mine!_ ”

“Is he?” Solene snapped, smirk dissolving. Holding her head high as if Coccinelle’s hat was perched on her head, she stared Claudette down. The blonde had a brisk worry flicker in her blue eyes and took a step back.

“If he is-” she leaned closer, throwing her intimidation like her yoyo, “-then he would have asked you, wouldn’t he? If he’d wanted you to go, he’d have sent you an invitation. But no. He asked _me._ You will not bully me, Bourgeois. You will not control me like one of your cronies. I got invited and, though I was going to give myself a moment to think it over, I believe you have convinced me to attend. _Esclarmonde_ sounds too _romantic_ to pass up.”

“How _dare you!”_

She shot the blonde a narrowed scowl. “I’ll be sure to let Bernard know all about your rude behavior these past few days. Especially to an honored guest of his!”  

“Once he realizes-”

“Realizes what?” She cut in sharply. “That you are a liar and a slanderer?”

“You’ll be sorry!”

“And yet it looks like I win!”

“ _I will end you, Montilyet!_ ” She shrieked and launched herself at Solene. The unexpected attack caught her off-guard and Solene tripped on her cream skirts, falling backward painfully on the rug. In a flurry of ruffles and fabric, Claudette’s pale hands grabbed for her raven hair, the bun unraveling and hair wildly tumbling about her shoulders.

Fingers ripping at her lace blouse, hand stretching towards Solene’s neck - she was in a blind rage.

“Bernard is _mine!_ He belongs to no one else! You’ve bewitched him, foul temptress!”

Screaming, Solene caught Claudette’s fingers before she could latch onto her throat and tried to shove her away. The blonde was straddling her hips in a vice grip.

“My Lady!”

Suddenly, Claudette was whisked off her body, the manservant having leaped forward to save her. The tray in his hands dropped with a clattering _bang_ on the coffee table - scattering the teapot and biscuits to the floor. He dragged her away and Claudette violently fought him to free her arms. His back collided with the edge of the china cabinet and he grunted in pain.

“Someone! Help! She’s gone mad!” He shouted, and the door to the room burst open not a second later. Her father, blue eyes wild, rushed in with a thin muscatched gentlemen following his heels.

“What is the meaning of this?!” her father demanded.

“Claudette Bourgeois attacked me!” Solene cried, sitting up with her fingers holding the ripped lace of her sleeve. Standing shakily, she leaned on the couch armrest, panting through her tight corset. “She flew into a rage!”

“It’s true, Monsieur! I saw all of it happen - oof!” The young manservant wheezed as Claudette elbowed him in the stomach - but he didn’t let her go.

“Unhand me, you ingrate!” The blonde shrieked.

The mustached man’s shifty brown eyes went wide and an almost feverish look spread on his thin face. He watched unblinking like one possessed as her father march to Claudette and grip her upper arm. She suddenly stopped struggling, her light blue eyes snapping in shock and fear at the audience around her.

“Claudette Bourgeois: you have the audacity to come in here and attack my daughter! You are no longer welcome in our home! Get out!”

“Like I’d want to be welcome by the people responsible for the monster attacks-”

“If I may, Mademoiselle Bourgeois, that has been proven to be a falsehood.” The reporter nodded to Montilyet, his mustache curling with sneered importance. His fingers furtively patted his pants pocket, a bulk of money probably stashed in there. “Absolutely no evidence is available to back up your family’s claims against the Montilyets. And now to see you physically assault his beautiful daughter-” he tsked and his brown eyes drifted interestedly to Solene’s ripped blouse, “-how volatile, how _unstable_. Rest assured I will include this scandalous outrage in my article - with your permission, Monsieur.”

“I leave that decision to your capable journalistic expertise,” Montilyet said, but the thinnest of triumphant grins was behind his blue eyes.   

“But I- I didn’t- I mean-!” Claudette words were stumbling weakly. Her father motioned for the manservant to let her go and he released her. The young man moved around the coffee table towards Solene - just near enough to look protective. She glanced up at him with grateful look and his hazel eyes, which were on her face, zipped away to the floor shyly.

“I believe the terrible weather must have driven you to female hysterics, Mademoiselle Bourgeois. Allow me to escort you to your carriage.” Her father motioned to the doorway and the blonde looked close to weeping.

The reporter followed in their retreating footsteps, a sheen thrill of a hot story crooked on his thin lips.

Gaze watching till the door closed behind them, she collapsed - quite undignified - on the couch. In a flurry of ruffles, her skirt poofed around her.

“Are you alright, my Lady?” the manservant asked softly.

Tall, brown hair, a tanned complexion - she smiled up at him.

“Thanks to you. You’re my hero.” She frowned. “I apologize, I don’t know your name. You are new, yes?”

“Just started last week.”

“Ah,” Solene clicked her tongue, “and the alleged ‘monster attacks’ here didn’t scare you off?”

A sheepish lopsided smile slipped on his lips, but he didn’t answer.

Tossing her messy hair over her shoulder, she asked, “And does my rescuer have a name?”

He swallowed. “Louis.”

“Louis…?”

“Cesaire.”

She grinned brighter. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Cesaire. I hope you stick around the next time Claudette decides to spontaneously come to call.”

He bowed suddenly, cheeks flushing.

“I-I must get back to my duties, my Lady. Please excuse me.”

“Of course,” Solene acquiesced - and watched him go.

Tall, honest eyes, the trim black coat would fit him perfectly and she could easily see the belt tail swinging behind his back. He way he’d protected her - jumped in to save her.

_Louis Cesaire..._

Her blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she plucked up Bernard’s letter from the tipped silver tray on the coffee table.

He couldn’t be… could he?

********************************  

She stomped out the front door without further escort, her anger raging inside.

_How dare those Montilyets!_

“It was for me… that invite was supposed to be for _me…”_ Claudette hissed - the sharp breeze carrying her words away with the hitch of tears tightening in her throat.

The brisk stormy wind caught and threw a piece of loose leaf paper in her face. She growled. Ripping the wrinkled paper off, she glanced at it and her blue eyes immediately frothed with bitter fury.

It was a beautifully drawn picture of _her_ \- a parasol above her head - her eyes glancing over her shoulder - mocking - waving at her - getting everything she ever wanted.

Perfection. Beauty.

_Solene Montilyet._

“I will destroy you and everything you love, Montilyet. Mark my words.”

A flickering temptation to rip the paper into shreds filled her, but she stopped herself, holding it steady.

No. It was better to keep her enemy near. The closer she had her, the better chance she had to physically ripping her to shreds. She’d keep this picture for now. A trophy of what was to come.

Folding the paper with shaking fingers and placing it in her small handbag, Claudette climbed into the waiting carriage, the tears of spiteful fury dripped eagerly off her chin.

******************************** 

He felt her pain; the anguish was so deep and dark. It was perfect. So beautiful for his akuma. She would be a force of destruction. Everything he could ever want in bringing out the guardian… and yet-

 _“Solene…”_ Violet Empereur sighed quietly. The fury was for her. He could feel the bitterness frothing inside.

What had she done to cause such rage? His stomach twisted tightly and the white butterflies around him settled to the ground at his feet.  

No. He couldn’t put her in danger.

Not again.

 _“De-transformation,”_ he murmured. The power whisked away and the purple kwami fled from the broche at his throat.  

“Master?” the little creature called softly.

He glanced at the kwami before flicking back to the darkening window.  

“She is the akuma I’ve been waiting for, but…” he sighed. “I cannot put Solene at risk again. I refuse.”

The kwami let out a silent sigh of relief, his terror subsiding for the time being.

******************************** 

They worked in silence.

Together, father and son kneaded, mixed, stirred, and measured. Gaspard would understandingly pass his father the sugar when he needed it. Likewise, his father would hand him the wooden spoon used for scraping the bowl when the batter was done mixing.

They were still a team, still reading each other’s thoughts - but where there was once laughter and conversation, it was simply quiet.

The cloudy sky was only beginning to show the darker navy of dusk when the father and son pair wiped their brows and, as one, cleaned their supplies from the back table. The thick discord of separation held tight and unyielding between them.

Gaspard was unsure of how to break it.

“I’m going upstairs, Papa,” he announced quietly - the first words spoken in the last three hours. He stood from stacking the newly cleaned bowls underneath the cabinet and brushed his hands on his flour-stained pants.  

“Aren’t you hungry? I’m making dinner soon.” His father turned to watch him head for the stairs.

“No, sir.”

Dupain sighed. “I should let you know, I received a letter this morning: Jacque Révérer passed away the other night.”

Gaspard felt his heart clench and he stopped with his hand on the banister. He looked back and caught his father’s sad eyes.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Papa.”

“He has a wake tomorrow. I will be attending it.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Dupain sighed. “No, that’s alright. I’ll leave you to watch things here. I won’t be leaving till the evening and the bakery will be closed by then. I’ll just need you to handle preparing the dough to rise.”

A thought crossed Gaspard. “I have a drawing I made of him a while ago. It’s not very good, but - if you want to take that with you. Just… something to give to his family?”

His father’s face crumbled slightly, and he brushed a hand under his eye. “I think that would be a wonderful gift. I was planning on bringing some of his favorite baguettes as well.”

The awkward silence was back, but now it held an underlying coat of sadness.

“I’ll be in my room.”

“Alright, _mon fils._ If you get hungry...” the words died in his father’s throat as Gaspard hurried up the stairs to his bedroom without another word.

Shutting the door and careful to drag his nightstand to his bed while it balanced Sara’s flower in a cup of water, he lit the candlestick and fished out a roll of paper and the pencil box. Sitting down on his mattress, he grabbed the knife and began to sharpen one of the duller edges into a fine point. The light from the candle brushed on the red chrysanthemum prettily and he looked at it for a moment.

It was strange - Sara handing him this particular flower. It had been the one she’d given him before she was akumatized… the very first time he’d ever met Coccinelle and transformed. They’d fought it together - working as a team. He had felt powerful, in control - sharp and ready. His enhanced senses filling him with the scent of flowers and Coccinelle’s perfume.  

The flower used to remind him of Solene and her red dress…

_A red and black spotted skirt. Ruby lips curled into a sly grin underneath a tan hat._

But now...

“You’re drawing again?” Plagg drawled lightly, floating from inside his shirt to land on his shoulder tiredly.

“Yes.”

“For this Révérer guy?”

“No - for someone else.”

“Could it be… _Coccinelle_?”

Gaspard didn’t answer, brushing the wooden shavings off his bedspread with a hand. Spreading a sheet out with the pencil case and the candlestick to brace it, he sat back to stare at the blank page, a lock of blond hair draping over his eyes.

“Drawing didn’t work so well last time,” Plagg reminded.

“I’ll give it to her as Chat and say that Gaspard drew it for her,” he said with determination. “Now that I think about it, losing that drawing was probably a good thing. Someone like Solene wouldn’t care about a stupid drawing. However, Coccinelle is different from her. I think she’d be someone who’d like to have a drawing as a gift.”

The tiny cat scoffed. “And this is going with the whole ‘a picture is a poem without words’ theory, correct?”

Gaspard nodded, but his face fell. “I’ve run ideas through my head, but I can’t think of any other way.”

He glanced at the black kwami on his shoulder, who shrugged at him. “Hey, you do you. If you want to draw something, who am I to stop you?”  

“I’ve spent all afternoon thinking of all the moments we’ve had together: Sara akumatized, her coming to the bakery roof for pastries, fighting at Solene’s mansion… I just don’t know where to start.”

Plagg snorted. “Don’t ask me. You’re the artist. I’m just here for the cheese and entertainment.”

Crossing his arms, Gaspard tapped his finger on his chin.

What could he draw?

_A hint of a playful smile on ruby lips. The brilliant sheen of a plan glimmering into her blue eyes. The hat sassily tipping over her forehead, her raven hair spilling over her shoulders, that short, red tabard billowing out as she swung high above the streets. Withdrawing the rapier - the yoyo tossing out of her fingertips-_

_Kind, smart, brave, and cheerful._

“I think I know what to do.” He nodded.

“Whatever you decide, I’m sure she’ll like it,” Plagg encouraged - with a bored tone in his voice. “Just draw what you feel and it’ll work out, kid.”

“Okay.” Gaspard shot his kwami a reassured grin. Plagg returned with a slow blink and a roll of his eyes.

Grabbing the pencil, the lead hovering over the page, Gaspard paused for only a second longer before putting the pencil on the paper.

******************************** 

Plagg left his Chosen’s shoulder and floated down to settle on the soft pillow.

A sly grin of triumph slowly and meticulously spread on his mouth as he watched his silly kitten twist his hand to the left and outline something lightly with the side of his pencil. Yawning audibly, he settled down for a nap -  or so he wanted Gaspard to think.

The crack of his left eye kept following the pencil as it arched one way - shaded another - smudged here - darkened there.

Plagg had said he wouldn’t give advice and he was adamant about keeping that promise.

But there was nothing wrong with a small hint, right?

A tiny push in the right direction?

Besides, the kid liked Coccinelle. Even someone as unobservant as Plagg could see it.

And Plagg oddly found himself liking her as well. It was rare he approved of Tikki’s Chosen so quickly. That fact alone spoke miles of the Ladybug girl’s character. She was unusually silly for a Ladybug, a playful spirit that liked to poke and prod and tease.

She would have made an excellent kitten - not that Plagg didn’t appreciate Gaspard. The boy was serious - almost too serious to be a cat.

Though, Plagg had to admit, the boy had a good head on his shoulders. He just needed to loosen up. Coccinelle balanced that. Her silliness and his seriousness. They were well-matched. The yin and yang holding strong. They just needed to figure out their rhythm. They were untrained, learning the ropes as they went instead of training for years at the temple. Traditionally, the compatibility of the Black Cat and Ladybug were tested by the Guardians.

Seeing as how that was impossible now… Plagg sighed lowly.

So, there was nothing wrong with a miniscule nudge - a small bat of his paw to guide the kid’s focus on what was already there.

He glanced at the drawing and watched Gaspard concentrate on the detail of her eyes - making them daring, exciting, charming…

Plagg grinned, turned on his back to let his paws flop in the air, and allowed himself a well-earned, self-congratulatory catnap.

Perhaps his kitten wasn’t so clueless after all.

******************************** 

Having successfully proclaimed to a concerned Marjoline that she was too distraught to dine at the table that evening, she’d asked for her dinner to be brought to her room - with an extra dessert added to help her handle the stress of the day. She was surprised how easily Marjoline had agreed. Solene must have looked worse than she thought - messy hair falling about her shoulders, blouse ripped with hanging lace. Either way, it was an early night and one that Solene was delighted to have.

Just herself, her lovely Tikki, her book - oh, and her glee at the public ruination of her worst enemy. That definitely didn’t hurt.

“I’m going to the opera, Tikki!” Solene twirled in her room, her nightgown billowing out from her ankles. Plopping on the vanity seat with a grin, she watched the red kwami take another large bite of the sugar cake from her dinner tray and smile at her.

“I am glad you are happy tonight, Solene. It has been a tough week for you,” she chirped with her mouth full.

“Happy doesn’t begin to cover what I’m feeling! Claudette completely disgraced herself in front of _everyone -_ even the reporter from _Le Temps!”_ She barked a sharp laugh and reached up to rip a piece of baguette from the tray. “Coming here to betrate me on lies _she_ made up and then gloating over Bernard’s invitation that wasn’t even for her, but for _me_ of all people!”

Tikki’s smile was strained as she swallowed the piece of cake.

“What?” Solene asked curiously, popping the bread into her mouth.

The kwami was quiet for a moment.

“I’m just… I’m a little worried. With the rate these akumas have been appearing, it makes me feel as if a new one could crop up any second. What if...” Tikki hesitated, “...what if Claudette…”

“Becomes akumatized and comes after me?” Solene finished for her. Reaching up, she tapped the crimson kwami on the head lightly. “I’m Coccinelle, Tikki. If that happens, I’ll do what I always do. I’ll transform and save the day.”

“These akuma have been very dangerous though. Violet Empereur is serious. You could have been in serious trouble yesterday-”

“And yet I’m fine!” Solene cut in with a grin. She squared her shoulders and tossed her raven braid. “I will stop him, Tikki. No matter what.”

“Confidence is one thing, but underestimating your enemy is another. You have powers, but you aren’t invincible. Just… please be careful.”

“I will, Tikki.” She gently picked up her kwami and nuzzled her sweetly to her cheek.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Opera, Esclarmonde, came out for the Exposition, premiering at the Théâtre Lyrique May 15, 1889. Claudette basically gives a synopsis of the entire play. I found it WONDERFULLY fitting for my lovely Coccinelle and Chat - especially with the drama between them right now. Be EXCITED. 
> 
> Also, please give Louis Cesaire, ancestor of Alya, a happy hello! lol! 
> 
> Also, Plagg ships Gaspinelle...


	15. Veiled Empress Part 3

“Ah, Louis! Just the man I was lookin’ for!” A boisterous voice called from the kitchen just as he entered through the doorway. Balancing clean linens in his arms, he caught the overweight cook’s bright grin and gave her one of his own.

“Good morning, Yvette,” he greeted. “Need me for something?”

“Come’in try this!” She pointed her wooden spoon at a flowery plate resting on the counter.

Frowning and setting the linens he was carrying on the back table, Louis fished out a fork and studied the suspicious pastry resting there. It was thinly folded; stuffed, pressed, and lightly boiled. Cutting off a corner, he was surprised to find it wasn’t flaky like a pastry should be, but smoothly cooked dough. Filled with a thin cut of grounded ham, the seasoning inside was something he’d never tasted before, several unnamed spices rolling on his tongue. Savoring the small bite, he gave the woman an impressed look.

“This is exceptional, Yvette. I’ve never tasted anything like it. It would be fit for the King of France himself.”

“Ya should give all that praise ta my new kitch’n hire!” The older woman gestured gaily to a short lad at her side - so small and thin Louis hadn’t even notice him standing there. He was very young, probably no more than nine or ten. A worn cap tucked low on his head, the boy bowed politely, and Louis was surprised to see he was foreign. From the East.

Very rare for Paris.

“You just started working here?” Louis asked him kindly. The boy ducked his head shyly and straightened a satchel strapped on his small shoulder.

Yvette nodded happily. “Calls ‘emself Wang Fu. Showed up at the door looking for work. Just in time, too! Lost another maid last night. Left with bags a-packed.” Her face fell. “Lucky young folk like you two come along to pick up the slack. I’m not sure what this house would have done without ya, Louis.”

Louis blushed scarlet and scratched his jaw, embarrassed. “I’m just grateful for the work. Monsters don’t scare me.”

“Me neither!” Yvette trumpeted, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And they shouldn’t scare you, little Fu. ‘Specially when we have heroes ta save us!”

A shadow of a smile lifted on the boy’s lips.

“If ya don’t mind, could you show him to a room, Louis? I’d do it meself, but I’ve got chickens to rouse! Tha Master will be wanting breakfast soon and those eggs don’t cook themselves, ya know.”

“I’d be happy to.” Louis motioning for the boy to follow him. Leading him out the back door and around the flowerbeds, a dark, cloudy dawn was just beginning to creep over the edge of the lovely manicured gardens.

Glancing at Fu curiously, Louis immediately noticed the clothes hanging off the boy’s lanky frame. A whelp of pity pooled in his stomach and Louis shot the lad a bright smile, which only made the boy’s shoulders crunch up, the satchel strapped to him dipping a bit off his thin back.

“You nervous?”

“You could say that,” Fu answered hesitantly.

“Don’t be. You’re in good hands. Like Yvette said, I’ve only just started here, and I really like it. The name’s Louis Cesaire. You can call me ‘Louis’. We’ll make sure you fit right in.”

“You are very kind,” the boy mumbled politely, glancing back over his shoulder at the kitchen door. Louis followed his gaze.

“No need to worry - Yvette is the kindest of the bunch - oh, besides Marjoline. You’ll probably meet her sooner or later.” Louis clicked his tongue. “I’m glad you showed up when you did. I’m not sure how many more servants we can stand to lose. You made a good impression with that meat pastry. It was delicious.”

“ _Merci_ \- however, it is not a pastry. It is a dumpling.”

Louis chuckled. “That’s a funny name for food.”

He led the boy around the back of the house, morning hardly creeping on the edges of the gardens through the thick clouds. Drops of last night’s rain dripped from colorful petals of scarlet, fuchsia, and alabaster white.

“You’re welcome to stay in my room till you’ve been assigned one,” Louis announced as they entered the servant’s door. “It shouldn’t take too long. Honestly, you could probably just take your pick of the lot. There’s quite a few vacant rooms available in the men’s side-”  

“Oi, Cesaire! A carriage has just rolled up!”

“ _What_?” Hazel eyes twisted to the rough stable-hand - who had just come panting into view from the other side of the hallway. Louis frowned. “A _carriage_? I thought the Opera wasn’t until tonight-”

The older man rolled his dark eyes. “Not ours, you fool! Looks like it’s Pernell! Better go greet him in!”

With that said, the stable-hand hurried away and Louis caught Fu’s curious eyes.

“Duty calls,” he sighed. Opening the door to his left, he nodded the boy inside. “You can put your stuff in my cabinet over there and we’ll sort out your room after breakfast is served. I’m sure Yvette is ready for your help. I’ll find you a proper uniform this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Louis,” the boy replied quietly, eyes dancing around the small room.

With a two-fingered salute, Louis grinned.

“Welcome to Monilyet Mansion, Fu!”

**************************

Despite the continuing storm that had bled into the bleak morning, Demetri had slept well - the first time since that fiasco with Solene at the Expo. Dressed in his more simpler attire, he straightened his brown-buttoned vest as he leaned back in the leather seat, scanning the morning newspaper carefully. He took a sip of tea, grading the cup on the saucer.

Not yet - seemed the reporter still needed time to write his scoop. Demetri just needed to be patient. The disgrace of the Bourgeois was imminent; the death of their societal influence falling swift and public like a guillotine.

Meanwhile, the Montilyets were attending the Théâtre - Solene specifically invited by Bernard Abelin. Though the invitation was unexpected - Solene had always insultingly crowed how the boy’s head was as empty as a flower pot - Demetri couldn’t help picturing the doors of influence that would swing wide for him because of a union between the two of them.

Everything counted on Solene. She had to be on her best behavior tonight. Demetri had to admit, his daughter had done shockingly well handling Claudette in front of the reporter considering her boorish manners as of late. Solene was the perfect damsel in distress.

It also didn’t hurt that Solene was growing more beautiful by the day. He could easily see the way the reporter’s eyes had lingered on her.

Perhaps there was hope for her after all. Taking away the girl’s ridiculous fantasy books had provided wonderful results. She was still a long way to rivaling the pure aristocratic grace that her mother had held, but with time and schooling, she’d be on the right track.

Blue eyes reaching the end of the paper, he sighed and set it on his desk. Too many articles about these Heroes of Paris lately - especially the Ladybug girl. There were five articles alone about another attack on the industrial side of town.

At least this solidified his innocence further.  

Why would upstanding Montilyets attack the factories?

The knock was soft on his office door.

“Enter,” Demetri called, sitting straighter in the seat.

The new young manservant, his hazel eyes flicking downward respectfully, gave a short bow before announcing, “Monsieur Pernell is here to see you, sir.”

“Albert is here?” A curiousness brushed his features before schooled stoicism replaced it. “Send him in and ring the kitchen for breakfast to be brought up.”

“Yes, sir.” The kid bowed again before pushing the door open further.

Albert Pernell, gray hair smoothed and dressed in a deep purple overcoat with ruffled lapel, strolled in with his spine ramrod straight and his cane thumping a staccato on the carpet. Standing from his chair, Demetri put on his brightest grin - which wasn’t too hard considering his unnaturally good mood.

“Ah, Albert! You should have telephoned you’d be coming this morning! I’d have had the dining hall prepared for you.”

The man’s eyes looked like sharp silver coins as he crossed the floor and took Demetri’s hand in his cold one. Giving a firm shake, he let it go as if it burned him.

“Forgive my intrusion, Demetri, but I must be brief. I have errands to run this morning and I had to stop by once I heard there was an upset yesterday involving your daughter.”

“Word travels fast. I appreciate your concern.” Demetri nodded, feeling smug and motioning to the seat in front of his desk. Albert sat with a sweep of thin legs and arms.

“The young Bourgeois girl was here.”

“Claudette?”

“The very one. The unstable girl attacked my Solene during the visit.”

“ _Attacked?_ ” The alarm on Albert’s face was yet another triumph. Despite her best efforts, it seemed Solene had attracted not just one, but two very promising proposals.

An extremely wealthy gentleman or a powerful French name...

What a delight to have choices.

“What could have driven the girl to such antics?”

“We don’t know. It certainly was without provocation.”

“Feminine hysteria can be a dangerous if not controlled,” the older man continued, pressing a thin finger to his pointed chin. “I trust your daughter is unharmed?”

“She was terrible shaken during the moment, but she has since recovered.”

Albert smiled thinly. “I am glad to hear. How very queer. I’d believed them to be friends.”

After a millisecond of inward debate, Demetri smiled back. “This might have concerned the invitation Solene received from Bernard Abelin.”

Just as he suspected, Albert’s grey eyes narrowed tightly. “An invitation? What for?”

“We are to attend the opera this evening to sit in their Théâtre box. Bernard specifically wrote to Solene to invite her.”

Albert’s jaw visibly popped inside his cheek. “I was unaware she and Bernard were so close.”

“They are of the same age and social circle. They grew up together. It’s understandable that Solene would eventually catch his eye. My late wife was good friends with Madame Abelin, so the invitation could simply be a courtesy.”

“A courtesy…” Albert’s lips pressed together tightly before he said, “I guess this time is as good as any. There has been a matter I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

“Oh?” Demetri asked, blinking innocently. “What matter is this?”

The older man’s voice was hardly louder than a whisper, but an unexpected shiver ran down Demetri’s spine. “There is more to my gala than I have admitted. I had asked your daughter if I could be her escort during the evening to propose my intentions to her.”

Demetri decided to keep playing dumb. “Propose what intentions, my friend?”

Albert’s lips grew thinner. “Her hand in marriage.”

“Ah, I  _see.._.”

“I inquire your blessing for my proposal.”

Montilyet leaned back in his chair with his fingers lacing together, the power settling beautifully over his shoulders like a royal cloak.

“My friend, if you had come a day sooner, I wouldn’t have hesitated. With this invitation from the Abelin’s - I cannot help if there are others vying for Solene’s delicate affections. Forgive me if I weigh the options for my only child and heir. The Abelin’s are very established-”

“ _I_ am established,” Albert retorted sharply. “You can rest assured your daughter will be treated like a queen when she is my wife.”

Demetri clicked his tongue. “I don’t doubt that, but I wonder if I should take a moment longer-”

“What is there to be considered? Why do you need time? I can offer your daughter the world. Solene wishes to attend the Théâtre? I will rent out the entire house just for her. She just need say the word and I will give her anything she wants.”

“Your devotion to my daughter does you credit; however, this is not a decision to be made lightly.”

“Now that the Abelin’s have thrown their lot in,” Albert murmured with eyes narrowing.

“It is just a simple opera. A one-time invitation. There’s no need to immediately draw conclusions.”

“What other conclusion can there be?”

“Bernard has yet to ask for my permission for her hand - unlike you.”

Eyes flicking from Demetri’s face, the silver stare slipped to the desk in contemplation.

“I shall await your answer,” he said coolly - all agitation immediately draining from his face as he squared his thin shoulders. “Do not make me wait long. I am not known for my patience.”

“Do not fret, my friend.” Montilyet smiled passively. “I swear you will have my answer well within time for your gala. You must understand such decisions for my family’s legacy should not be taken lightly. It is no offense to you.”

“Of course,” Albert said, his lips raising into something akin to a snarl. “No offense taken at all.”

At the crack of the door, thin fingers tightening on a tray balancing Yvette’s splendid fried eggs and sausage, Louis Cesaire’s hazel eyes stared hard at the back of Albert’s salt and peppered head, his expression cresting with unease.

**************************      
  
His father entered the back room just as Gaspard finished adding the flour to the macaron batter - a tightness laced behind his gentle chocolate eyes. Gone were Dupain’s baker-stained pants and jam-streaked shirt. Dressed in pressed brown trousers and matching overcoat, the suit made the blond’s throat tighten sharply.

The last time his father had worn that suit, they’d been standing over his mother’s grave. Gaspard had buried his face in his father’s arm, wet eyes pressed into the sleeve in attempts to stifle the bitter burn of hard loss raging inside.

The slice of separation was back, shimmering in its unheard dissonance. He felt Plagg against his neck as temptation grew once more.

If only he could just tell him. How much simpler everything would be.

He could say it. Papa would be the only one. No one else would know.

 _But..._    

“I’ve packed the bread for you over there, Papa. I added my drawing, too,” Gaspard called softly, lips struggling to smile reassuringly. Gesturing to a half-dozen wrapped baguettes in a large sack waiting on the baking table, his father nodded tightly.   

“ _Merci_.”

“Papa.”

Dropping the spoon into the bowl, he faced his father’s sad eyes with his shoulders squared. A shiver of nervous fear rushed down his spine, but he forced the words: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about how I’ve been behaving lately. I-I want you to know I’m still your son. I’m still me. And I always will be. We are a team, right?”

His father blinked and some of the open pain in his brown eyes drained away to the usual kind warmth. He opened his large arms wide and Gaspard felt his heart leap. He rushed to embrace his father, his hands latching tightly around the broad chest.  

“Of course, you’re still you. You are my son. I will always be on your team no matter what.” His voice was low and warm in Gaspard’s ears. It tightened his throat.

“I’m sorry about Coccinelle.” He hated how his voice broke a bit at the end of her name.

Running a hand through his messy blond hair, his father sighed. “I know you are. And it’s going to be alright, son.”  

Gaspard shook his head, voice muffled into the familiar coat. “I was upset, and I took it out on her. I shouldn’t have. I really want to be her friend.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” The gentle smile on his deep voice was full of affection. Letting his son go, he placed his large hands on Gaspard’s shoulders with a proud look.

“We’ll make sure the next time she swings around she knows she is welcome here. We’ll have a bundle of éclairs waiting just for her.” A twinkle was in his brown eye. “She told me they were her favorite.”

“She did?” Marcus didn’t miss the thin blush that popped on Gaspard’s cheeks.

With a kind smile, he patted Gaspard’s shoulder and let him go to grab the package of baguettes.

“I’ll see you later tonight, son.”

“Be safe, Papa.”

**************************

“This is way too dangerous,” the turtle whispered into Fu’s ear. “Whatever made you think working here was a good idea? Isn’t this  _her_ home?”

Peering out the front parlor window, Fu and kwami watched as the tall grey-haired man folded himself into his carriage, his expression touched with frustration and anger. Louis bowed from the waist as it rolled down the drive and through the open gate.

“I need more time, Wayzz,” Fu replied, tensely. “And food. And shelter. At least here I can keep an eye on one Miraculous and survive while doing so.”

“The girl is bound to recognize you as the one she saved from the river. How will you deal with that?”

“She might not even remember-”

“She’s clever and you know it, Fu,” the turtle grumbled pointedly. “Don’t you insult her intelligence.”

The boy sighed. “Then if she asks me, I’ll tell her I got a job here. No lies… and I’ll tell her the truth. The _whole_ truth. It’s about time I give some answers to those two.”

Wayzz gasped. “But Fu-!”

The boy shook his head, effectively cutting off the turtle’s rebuttal. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take. They are putting their life on the line for mine. They deserve to know more of what they’re up against. I’ll find the ancient magic. I swore to you I would. I just - I need more  _time._ Maybe roping those two into my plans will help me find it faster.”

At the aged hollowed look in his Chosen’s eyes, Wayzz sighed and touched the boy’s neck.

“Alright. Whatever you decide, I’m with you. We’re partners after all. Just don’t go risking your life again.”

That got a smile on the boy’s lips. Reaching up, he rubbed the turtle’s head kindly.

“I promise, mon amie.”

**************************

“I will wait till tonight. My perfect akuma will be even stronger by then,” he said lowly. Long fingers tapping on his knee, he glanced out the window of his carriage at the storm clouds. The threat of rain had endured throughout the day, but had yet to cave in. Storm clouds churned darkly over the city of Paris, weaving and mixing like a potion in a cauldron.

“You’re going to possess her?” Nooroo asked quietly. The purple kwami’s head poked from the thick lapel at his master’s throat.

He nodded. “She will take care of that pesky Abelin brat for me. Once he is out of the way, Montilyet will have to accept my proposal.”

“But you said the akuma would go after Solene-”

“My akuma will also do as I command, right?” He snapped. “She will be my ultimate tool of destruction or she will perish.”

“But what of the book-?”

“The book will come in due time. I will find the guardian after I take care of Abelin.”

Following the gleaming eyes of his master, Nooroo watched as a sharp light snaked in the sky and a thundering boom followed shortly.

Still no rain - but it would be long.

A foreboding storm for a foreboding turn of events.

**************************

Solene really should have predicted this.

She had been caught up with the thought of jealous Claudette Bourgeois, and attending a romantic opera, and finally making headway into her social status as a Montilyet without the shadow of her mother over her head.

The one thing she hadn’t considered: Marjoline. True to her akuma, the maid was proving to be nothing short of a living nightmare.

“Marjoline... _can’t breathe_ …” Solene choked, her hands holding a death-grip on the bedpost to keep from falling over.

“Nonsense! This isn’t any tighter than usual!” The maid grunted as her strong, wizened fingers yanked a little further. Finally tying the laces off, she huffed as Solene turned around with a pain-filled grimace on her lips.

“I think... my insides are... _touching my spine_.”

The old woman harrumphed with her hands on her hips. “If that’s the case, you’re getting fat.”

“I’m not getting fat!” Solene gasped, affronted. Her hands immediately covered her stomach defensively and all dramatic pretense of pain dropped from her face. “I just think I’d like to breathe tonight is all.”

“The corset will loosen as the night goes on - you know this.” Marjoline clicked her tongue critically. Moving to grab the double-laced petticoats from where it laid on the bed, she held it out for Solene to step into and shimmied it up her waist.

“Besides,” she continued, “if a tight corset is an issue, you can always lay off the sweets tonight. Sugar used to make your mother bloat like a horse.”

“I don’t bloat!” Solene scowled with a blush, holding her arms to her chest as the petticoat buckled to the corset. “And I should be allowed a biscuit if I want one! Bernard isn’t worth starvation!”

“Should have thought of that when you accepted his invitation.”

“You would have smothered me in my sleep if I hadn’t!”

Marjoline snorted. “True. Now - hands up!”

The heavy silver-gold satin drowned her for a few seconds before falling like a waterfall of fabric over her body. Turning back around, Solene held her hair up as Marjoline did up the buttons on the back of the dress. Long sheer sleeves hanging from her wrists, a layer of silver satin shimmered underneath the iridescent fabric all the way up her arms and shoulders. The gold bodice was cut low like her red one from the Expo - dipping to show just a hint of her womanly figure. The silver and gold satin fell from her waist to her feet in bunched layers.

Running a palm down the beautiful, thick skirt, even without looking at her reflection Solene knew this dress was made for a princess.

“Despite your best efforts at obliterating your figure with sweets - you look like a picture.” The old woman murmured with a proud smile. “Bernard is a very lucky young man.”

Solene made a face. “Ugh, please don’t start with that. I’m just going to the Théâtre.”

Marjoline scoffed. “' _Just going to the Théâtre_ ’, she says. Didn’t his note say he wanted to speak to you privately? If that’s not a proposal, I’ll eat my apron.”

“Better have a knife and fork ready. He hasn’t asked father’s permission for my hand as far as I know. Besides, you aren’t seriously saying you want me to _marry_ Bernard, right? Whatever happened to being ‘too good’ for him?”

“Oh, you are _absolutely_ too good for him, but you also have a responsibility to your family. As far as suitors go, he’s not a bad choice. Think of the alternatives.”

The name was clear as if said out loud: _Albert._

Solene sighed, but a hitch of apprehension was twisting in her bound stomach. Her gaze flicked to the closed window on her left and, as if to mirror her inner turmoil, a flash of lightning snapped inside the heavy clouds. Despite it hardly being past tea time, the stormy sky had already blanketed the daylight, forcing the mid-afternoon into an early twilight.

What would she do if Bernard actually _did_ ask for her hand? Truthfully, probably throw up - hopefully on him. Maybe a spectacle like that would save her from all future proposals.

Marjoline was right though, as usual. This was a serious matter and an important night for her family. If Bernard asked for her hand, it was her father’s decision to accept whether she could marry him or not. Even if she refused. Even if she threw up on him. Nothing would could stop her from becoming Bernard’s bride…

Except… _Green eyes, blond hair, an ebony gentleman’s coat draping from his hips: his mouth hovering an inch over her own, his arms cradling her body close._

If she was forced to wed, would he really come to save her just like Roland? Would he fight for her - brandishing his staff with a declaration of love; winning her hand in marriage like a true knight? Propriety would call for her to marry Bernard, but if a _Hero of Paris_ objected…?

Her father would _have_ to accept Chat’s offer, right? Magic powers had to trump social classes.

Which made her wonder - how did being a hero rank on the aristocracy scale? As Coccinelle and Chat - they were equals, partners.

But in real life? Would the fact that her Chat could be of any trade, even a beggar, be a hindrance for him?

Besides, it didn’t matter who Chat was behind the mask. He was irrefutably her true love - her real-life fairy tale prince.

No matter what, they were destined to be together - to live happily ever after.

His kiss had proven it.

Thinking of those lips pressed against hers, Solene unknowingly murmured, “ _Chat_ ”, under her breath and she missed Marjoline’s narrowed look behind her head. Finishing the last button, Solene turned back and finally caught the suspicious glint in the old maid’s eye.  

“Marjoline?”

“This may not be the right time, but I must ask,” she began through pursed lips, “I… I have been avoiding speaking to you about this considering your father has done his best to try and brush the event out of the public eye - but there are things I don’t quite understand… about that-that night… when I was-” she swallowed thickly and a wash of nerves brushed over her expression, “- _possessed_.”

Solene’s mouth fell open and she took the maid’s wrinkled hands in her own. “Of course. Anything you want to know.”

Marjoline avoided her eyes - which was _very_ unlike her - and stared at the red carpeted flooring. “From what I can put together, everyone was asleep - including you, Solene. A young girl in a short red dress and a boy with cat ears freed me from the spell and woke everyone up. They are the Heroes of Paris, correct?”

“Yes, they are.” Solene nodded kindly, but a knot was beginning to form in her throat. What could Marjoline possibly be asking about? It was making her both scared and strangely excited. Could Marjoline have figured it out?

That _she_ was the hero in red?

“The girl left, but the boy remained for a moment longer. Told me his name was ‘Chat’ and mentioned that I should forgive you. He didn’t know your name, Solene - but… the way he talked about you.” The maid let out a low breath and squeezed Solene’s fingers. “It caught my attention.”

“He - wait - he - _attention_? _How_ ?” Words couldn’t catch up to her reeling brain. Blue eyes wide, heart pounding in her ears, she wondered if the spots in her vision was from the tight corset or the shock of talking about Chat with _Marjoline_ of all people.

Probably both.

Her stuttering made Marjoline’s eyes lock with furtive thoughts. “He’s definitely _interested_ , mon coeur. I may not have been married myself, but I know a smitten tom cat when I see one.”

“A _smitten…_ Why didn’t you say anything!?” Solene cried, finally finding her voice. “It’s been _days!_ ”

“I’ve kept quiet for your father’s sake,” the maid frowned. “Hearing you whisper that boy’s name just now… You _must_ be careful. Some might think you have improper thoughts about him.”

Her mouth opened and closed - words lost somewhere in her tightly closing throat.

Marjoline straightened her thin shoulders with determination. “I say this for your own good: you shouldn’t sully your reputation further with infatuation. That boy is a mystery - and mysteries are dangerous. You need stability in your life. Bernard or Albert can give that to you.”

As if that was final, she pulled Solene to the vanity in a whirl of golden skirts and pushed her to sit on the stool. The mirror reflected Solene’s increasingly red face and Marjoline’s stoically thin lips.

Anger burned, but the strength of Coccinelle gave her courage. Solene caught Marjoline’s hot gaze in the mirror with a hardened look of her own.

“No matter what you think, it’s not infatuation.”

“Then what? You believe yourself  _in love_ with this young man? Don’t be absurd.”

“It’s not absurd,” Solene growled.

Marjoline’s face crunched, not with anger like Solene thought, but with sharp pity.

“You are too young, too naive, to know what love is.”

Solene scoffed darkly. “Yet I’m old enough to get married?”

“Marriage is duty.”

“Father and mother loved each other!”

“And their love didn’t blossom till their second year of marriage. We live in a dangerous age, Solene. And this boy isn’t worth your family obligations. Whatever fantastical dream you’ve conjured in your mind, you need to let it go. Your father will never approve a relationship with this young man - if he is even _human_.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“And what do you know of him!?” Marjoline fired back, finally snapping with anger. “That he is a Hero of Paris and nothing more! I’m sure he wanders around the streets like some common alley cat! Does the name Montilyet mean nothing to you!?”

_You are a waste._

Hands shaking in her lap, mouth pressed into a hard line, the barrier inside her cracked and she pushed against the wave of anger, frustration, and tears that threatened to crumble it to the ground.

She wouldn’t cry.

She wouldn’t break.

She was Coccinelle.

_Lock it in._

Solene watched as the maid silently swept her hair into a high braided twist with a shower of curls draping down her neck to her shoulders.

Marjoline didn’t understand.

Marjoline didn’t know who she truly was.

No one did.

_Lock it in._

Plucking up a matching golden hat, the maid pinned it on her thick hair, the silver feathers on top tilting stylishly to the side.

Solene scowled at it. What she wouldn’t give for the feather to be crimson and perched on a tan cavalier hat instead. To be her true self and not this _thing_ to be paraded and judged. To be married for duty and bred like some common stable horse.

_Lock it in._

As Marjoline reached for her budded earrings, Solene cupped them, blocking her.

“I’m keeping these on,” she demanded sharply - her hard voice sounding too much like her father.

The old woman glared, but acquiesced.

Cheeks pinched, a pink rouge added to her lips - she was the most beautiful she’d ever been.

And she wanted nothing more than to rip it all off her body and stomp on it in the dirt.

“Mademoiselle Montilyet?” A maid’s voice broke through her closed door before a gentle knock followed. “Your father is waiting downstairs with the carriage.”

As Marjoline moved away to open the door, Solene covered the vanity with her bell skirts as Tikki quickly materialize from the drawer to slip inside the pink pouch resting near her jewelry case. Standing, Solene gently plucked up the purse. With plenty of layered skirts, no one would see it hidden in her hand.

No one would ever know who she truly was.

_Lock it in._

Sweeping out the door, she held her head high as she hurried down the hallway to the grand staircase - and to her evening with Bernard.


	16. Veiled Empress Part 4

Both Montilyet were met at the carriage door and led into the estate by a well-dressed servant. Passing through a giant cedarwood front parlor, the servant left and another took his place, offering to take her father’s black, pinstripe overcoat and top hat. After that was done, three more stepped forward to hand them hot moist towelettes - the third balancing a silver tray on his fingertips for when they were done washing their hands. After that, a very well-to-do older matron greeted them, a simple nod of her head, and the two quietly stunned guests were ushered through a series of lavishly furnished rooms before entering one of the family sitting areas.

“Ah, Demetri, Solene! You have arrived!” Abelin grinned, moving from where he stood at the fireplace. His burgundy-velvet coat and gold-plated buttons glimmered in the firelight. Tight lips, Lady Abelin rose from her seat on the couch to join his side. Her matching velvet, mahogany dress rustled across the floor. Her back impeccably straight, silver-black hair piled in curls on her head, her eyes were as hard as steel rolling over Solene’s entire figure. She visibly raked in the flaws - or hopefully, lack thereof.

Solene forced a polite smile - hoping it didn’t look as intimidated as she felt inside. Holding her mother’s pink hand purse with Tikki inside, she prayed for her Coccinelle courage.

Her father, naturally, was the card of genteelism.

“Of course, Paul. We are overwhelmed by your generosity. I have been reading about this Opera for months.”

“We are delighted to have you-” Lord Abelin’s eyes flicked to Solene with a light of interest, “-and your _lovely_ daughter as well.”

“ _Merci beaucoup_ ,” she replied following up with a perfect curtsy. The weight of Lady Abelin’s stare was growing heavier by the second. “I’ve only been here a few times, yet your estate never fails to take my breath away-”

“Oh, is it to your liking?” Lady Abelin’s voice cut sharper than her glare. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it once you are the new Lady. A great place to make your sinful abominations to destroy Paris.”

Solene staggered as the breath rushed out of her chest. Blinking and forcing her lungs to expand through the tight corset, her mind fumbled for something to say. Some kind of recovery. Tikki rustled the purse in her fingers. Her father’s alarmed blue eyes tossed between her and Lady Abelin hesitantly. Despite the fireplace happily crackling it the hearth, the luxurious room was growing colder by the minute.

“D-Dear, we _talked_ about this,” Lord Abelin finally stumbled to his wife. “Bernard specifically asked for Solene to come tonight-”

A loud scoff from her lips interrupted him.  

Demetri bowed, his expression smoothing to grace. “I apologize for the misunderstanding, Lady Abelin, but my family has been cleared of all slanderous charges regarding these monsters. There will be a publication in _Le Temps_ soon enough detailing the particulars of-”

“And I’m sure they are getting well paid for the publication, Montilyet. Lining their pockets for your headlines?”

“Darling, please!” Abelin cried.

“I hope you will not continue to believe Bourgeois’ lies. We are in no way responsible for the attacks on Paris.”

“Lies that have also come from the mouths of your servants?” She clipped back. “They ran from your house fearful of their lives.”

“Gabrielle, you have known my family for decades,” he said calmly. “You were friends with my late wife for ages.”

She glared tightly. “People change. Obviously, she had no idea what you were truly capable of-”

“That is enough, Mother!” A deep voice burst from the doorway behind her head.

Solene swiveled on foot to spy Bernard, in all his tall, burly awkwardness, hurrying into the sitting room. Thickset, pale, and a lavished crisp suit that was a touch tight around the middle, Bernard had grown quite tall since the last she’d seen him. Her golden hat barely reached the top of his chin. Ebony eyes filled with childish temper, he stood by Solene’s side like a chivalrous knight.

“Solene is _my_ special guest. I won’t have to speak to her that way.”

“Bernard-” Lord Abelin forced a smile, lines around his eyes deepening, “-I was beginning to wonder where you were, son-”

“I was… I was getting ready…” he replied, his eyes flipping down to Solene. She caught his gaze and his pale cheeks bloomed brightly.

Lady Abelin visibly backed down, but her stare was still daggers. “Hmph - well, now that you’re here let’s have some tea, shall we? Make sure the cook is up to _Montilyet_ standards? Can’t have monsters going hungry.”

Lord Abelin sighed. Demetri closed his eyes briefly as if praying for patience. Bernard boldly grabbed Solene’s arm, pulling her to one of the loveseats near the fire. She sat delicately, but he plopped boyishly beside her on the cushion - all anger wiped from his face and replaced with a glaze of excitement.

Her father took up a chair in the corner with Abelin, way too far for Solene’s liking, and nursed a glass of brandy handed to him from yet another servant. Lady Abelin simply crossed the floor and planted herself far at the window seat, her eyes glowering like a wolf from the back of room.

Tea was served, but her stomach twisted with every dainty sip.

The biscuits looked tasty though. She grabbed two and furtively slipped them into the pink pouch.

The sitting area fell deadly quiet - save for the crackling fire and quiet murmuring conversation between her father and Lord Abelin.

Her tightly bounded stomach in knots, her heart hammering in her throat, Solene knew she was paying a price for her crowing about Claudette earlier. Karma had reared its ugly head in the form of inaudible awkwardness. Returning Bernard’s adoring grin with a strained one of her own, regret laced through her. Her blue eyes slipped up to the mantel where a large painting of Jesus was ascending into beautiful clouds of white.

Oh, to be Coccinelle at this moment - slipping carefree through those luscious clouds…

Finally, after quite a considerable amount of time and half her tea gone from her cup, Bernard spoke: “I hope you are well. But I mean, of course you are. It has been far too long since I’ve seen you. That dress is very becoming on you. Your hair is very…” he swallowed thickly, “... _up._ ”

“I-uh-” she faltered, “-thank you. I appreciate the invitation. I’ve heard such wonderful things about Esclarmonde.”

“Esclar-huh?” He frowned.

She blinked. “The Opera? Esclarmonde? That’s what it’s called, right?”

“Oh,” he sighed, rolling his eyes, “I haven’t bothered to find out what the Opera is.”

“Ah.”

She was right about him getting someone else to pen the letter.

His sudden nervous look only made her apprehension tighten as he turned to face her fully, his leg touching her gold skirt only by a fraction of a hair. Settling her teacup down, she shot him a quizzical look.

“Are you alright, Bernard?”

Hands clasping and unclasping in front of his vest, he leaned closer and Solene could see the streaks of grease running through his slicked-back hair.

“I-I am well; however, … I apologize if you thought this was a simple invitation. Indeed, I have alternative reasons for needing to see you, Solene.” His dark eyes shifted from his prim mother in the corner and over his shoulder to their chatting fathers. “There is a matter I wish to speak to you about. Something very important.”

“A m-matter?” Solene asked through a tight throat.

_Oh, God, was this it? The declaration of his intentions?!_

Glancing around the room sharply once more, he leaned even closer and motioned for her to do the same.

Eyes wide, teeth chewing on the inside of her cheek, she did.

“We must keep this between us. Just you and me, understand?” he whispered conspiratorially.

“Keep what?” she hissed back, completely lost.

“There is someone… there is someone I have fallen for… someone I want with all my heart.”

Mouth falling open, Solene could only stare at him as his blush splattered across his pale cheeks, reddening his nose.

“Rest assured, I will take your secret to the grave, Solene. This I swear. But that means you must also do something for me.”

Her hand clasped tightly around Tikki’s pouch, she swallowed thickly.  “What secret? What are you talking about?”

“Mother said she wouldn’t approve of her, but that’s because she hasn’t met her yet. I know once she does, she will have to love her! Love her as I love her!”

A small zing of an ache bloomed between her eyebrows at his cryptic nonsense and she resisted the urge to rub the spot.

“Wait, you need my help meeting someone your mother doesn't approve of? _Who?”_

His black eyes grew hazy. “She’s an angel sent from Heaven, Solene. A saint with the power to save us. And I will simply _die_ if I don’t meet her. You can create the monsters, right? The monsters that she fights?”

“Wha-” The realization was caught somewhere between her chin and chest - the words sticking in her throat. They came up reluctant - followed by a bit of a choke.

“Y-you don’t _mean-”_

“Yes!” he chimed happily. “I am in love with Coccinelle!”

In her palm, Tikki jumped against her fingers. Sitting back, blue eyes wide and staring at his excited face, she tried to match her voice and her thoughts.

“Yo-you are… I’m…”

“You are shocked.” Bernard nodded understandingly, his voice still no more than a breath. Grabbing her free hand from her lap, he held her fingers tightly between his palms - his skin slight clammy. “I know you can do this for me. Claudette basically explained the entire process on how you create them. I tried to follow her instructions, but it never worked.”

“ _Instructions?”_ Solene squeaked, her eyebrows raised and headache growing. _“What instructions?”_

“On how to summon the monsters. I couldn’t figure it out. There was only so much red wine I could sneak from the cellars without anyone noticing. And pouring them on the ashes of a dead rose. Your floors must be a ruined sight because Mother almost killed me for staining the Turkish rug-”

“But-”

“I tried so many times! It didn’t work!” He growled. “I can’t do it, Solene. I can’t create the monsters. I need _you_ to do it for me. That’s why I invited you to the Opera to ask you. I want you to make a monster to bring Coccinelle. I have to meet her. She is my true love.”

_“True love-”_

“I promise I will let you win occasionally when I go to fight monsters with her!” he said graciously. “But just think of it: side by side, Coccinelle and I will be in every newspaper article. Every tavern song. Legends will tell of our love and power united as one! All she has to do is meet me! She will certainly fall for me! I know it! I must have her hand in marriage! I won’t have anyone else! Even if mother disapproves, I will find a way to make her my wife!”

“There is - I - _NO!”_ She finally found the word she was desperately searching for. Wrenching her hand away from his, she jumped to her feet - tripping ungracefully on her petticoat. “I would _never_ \- I don’t - I _can’t-”_

“ _Solene!”_ Her father stood from his chair angrily. “What is the meaning of this outburst?”

Mouth falling open, her thoughts were frozen and a sputtering left instead.

“I apologize, Monsieur Montilyet,” Bernard cut in, a thin smile slipping on his face. “I was merely suggesting we play a naughty prank on our dear Claudette for her lies. Solene is too kind-hearted to accept.”

“For-forgive me, Father. I didn’t mean to disturb the evening,” Solene apologized tightly, her blue eyes flicking suspiciously over Bernard’s honest face.

“Just as well, it is time we ready our carriage to the Lyrique.” Lord Abelin nodded to a servant - who bowed tightly and hurried out of the room. Both Abelin and her father stood, their conversation drifting to the grand hallway. Lady Abelin rose from her seat in the back. Solene watched her glide around the loveseat to follow the gentlemen out the door - the sharpness in her eyes still piercingly suspicious. She had seen the heated conversation, but Solene couldn’t tell if she’d heard any of it.

Not that it helped matters.

Feeling a wash of relief, Solene jumped as something touched the back of her arm. Bernard’s fingers lingered only for a moment on her skin before he dropped his hand, the genteel grin on his lips turning sly and cunning.

“Seems you owe me a favor already, Montilyet,” he hissed, standing. “I will tell everyone the truth and there will be no escaping it. You family will be ruined. You only have to create a monster for me. Just one.”

She wanted to groan. “You’re not listening. I _can’t_ create them-”

He clicked his tongue. “Such a pity. I guess this invitation was for nothing. Perhaps I should have brought Claudette after all.”

As he followed his mother out the door, Solene’s shoulders dropped. Glancing down at the pouch in her hand - the top opened slightly and Tikki’s wide blue eyes were terrified.

“I thought you said he wasn’t very bright!” the red kwami squeaked.

“Clearly I’ve underestimated the lengths he’ll go to get what he wants.” She felt ill, her stomach turning sharply.

“What are you going to do, Solene?”

She released a long breath, forcing herself to cool down and think. “I can’t very well tell him I’m the one he’s in love with. No one is supposed to know my identity. Perhaps...” She bit her lip. “Perhaps I can meet him as Coccinelle somehow. Show up at his window?”

“And then do what?”

“Reject him obviously. Chat is the only one I love.”

Tikki’s antennae drooped. “I know, but be careful, Solene. He... he scares me.”

“You and me both, Tikki.”

Straightening her shoulders, calling for her inner strength, she draped it over herself like a shield and felt her optimism rise.

“It’ll work out, Tikki. I know it will. It doesn’t matter that Bernard thinks he can control me. I’ll find a way to beat him. I am Coccinelle and I am invincible.”

Closing up the purse, screwing on a brave smile, she whisked out of the room in a flourish of gold skirts.

However, inside the soft pouch, the kwami was quiet.

The worry never leaving her eyes.

***************************************

 It was quiet, lonely work in the bakery that night. With his father gone at the wake and Plagg upstairs napping, the blond baker found himself lost in thought; hands going through the motions of recipes he’d long since memorized.

Mixing the slowly thickening batter of his third batch of macarons - a touch more flour, a pinch salt to bring out the sprigs of vanilla - the aroma inside the back kitchen was intoxicatingly sweet. Setting the large bowl aside to let the batter rest, Gaspard sighed as he leaned against the table, a soft smile unexpectedly slipping on his lips.  

 _“Even the air outside is sweet,”_ Coccinelle had chimed with a wistful expression, that outrageous hat dipped back and the wind tossing her loosely curled locks.

Perhaps later, after setting up the macarons for tomorrow morning’s bake, Gaspard could patrol as Chat. He hadn’t ventured out as the superhero unless there was an akuma to deal with. It would be nice to slip away and see the city. Just freely jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

Coccinelle did it - so why couldn’t he?

And - if he just so happened to run into his spotted partner, he could possibly give her the drawing he’d happen to bring with him and the batch of eclairs he’d made especially for her. He could picture it now: some unnamed rooftop in Paris, both of them overlooking the glowing city streets. Her flirty smirk on her lips, the yoyo clutched in her palm.

Lost in his imagination, he held out an invisible bag to an invisible Coccinelle.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he whispered under his breath, but immediately shook his head. No, he’d be Chat when he saw her. Chat had nothing to apologize for.

“I overheard that a baker wanted to give these to you, so I went in and I-I, uh...”

He groaned. That made Chat sound like he’d stolen them.

“My baker friend wanted me to give you these, Coccinelle. He learned you liked them and he wanted to say he was sorry-”

“What are you babbling about down here?” A thin voice complained from the stairway.

Quickly dropping his arms, Gaspard blushed with embarrassment, but a smile touched the corner of his lips. The yawning kwami gave him a slow, disinterested blink as he drifted closer.

“I felt like I should practice what I’m going to say to Coccinelle when I see her.”

“And you have to practice out loud?”

Gaspard snorted a laugh. “It wasn’t like I was shouting.”

“I have heightened hearing, remember? Also, you’re out of camembert.”

The blond blanched. “ _What?_ I’m out? Plagg, I bought _seven wheels_ of the stuff for you _.”_

“And I’m hungry,” the cat complained, ears flattening to his head. “Keeping up your transformation is hard work for me.”

Gaspard clicked his tongue. “What are you talking about? You haven’t had to transform me in days. Can’t you eat a cookie instead? I have plenty of those!”

“Ugh, _sugar,”_ Plagg grumbled, before his ear twitched at the back door. “Someone’s coming.”

Opening his collar, the kwami slipped inside just as a small knock rapped on the door. Wiping his batter-crusted fingers on the front of his stained apron, he hurried to open it - and smiled down at the thin redhead standing there.

A tattered tan coat over her head, Sara’s brown eyes were shining with mischief.

 _“Bonsoir,_ Sara. A bit late for a visit,” he said, slipping his green eyes to the dark, churning clouds. The weather was finally beginning to let loose the storm it had threatened all day.

“I know it’s late, but I’ve just heard the most fantastic news and I couldn’t wait to tell you! I had to come here straight away! This could be the chance you’ve been waiting for!”

Sara hurried past him, dropped her damp coat on the tile floor, and skipped to the baking table. Jumping to sit next to his bowl full of macaron batter, she swung her legs in the air and glanced around the quiet kitchen curiously.

“Where’s Papa Dupain?”

Gaspard smiled softly, swooping to pick up her fallen coat. Folding it gently and tucking the coat under his arm, he said, “he’s at a wake. Won’t be back until late. One of our regulars passed away the other night.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “I’m sorry, Gaspard.”

“You mentioned something about a ‘chance I’ve been waiting for’?” he asked bemused, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

She brightened instantly. _“Yes!_ The Bustiers are planning a soiree at Au Rocher de Cancale!”

His eyebrows lifted. “A soiree, you say? What for?”

Sara scoffed, waving her hand. “I’m not sure - someone’s getting married, having a baby, come into fortune - doesn’t matter. What I _did_ hear was that they are planning on sending invites to everyone on the block!”

“That’s great!” He cheered. “If it’s a party, they might need a cake-”

She groaned and dramatically pressed a hand on her forehead. “Get your head out of the ovens, butter-brain! That means you and Papa Dupain will be invited!”

“Okay…?” He blinked pointedly. “So, no cake?”

“Come on! Think hard for a second! It’s a _dance!”_

“And you rushed over here in a brewing storm to tell me this, _why?_ Do you want to go with me?”

 _“_ I-uh-” She blushed, dropping her hand to fiddle the tattered hem of her dress shyly. “I-I mean I wouldn’t say _no,_ but that’s not why I’m telling you.”

“The suspense is killing me,” he said dryly.

“How about instead of asking me, you _invite your princess?”_

 _“Wh-what?”_ His green eyes widened and he felt Plagg shift in his shirt.

 _“Yeah!_ Ask her to go with you! It’s an opportunity to get to know her! To dance with her! To actually talk to her instead of daydreaming about it!”

He let the absurdity of the declaration wash over him for a brief moment before the laughter began. It started small, just a tiny chuckle, before it bubbled up and he was clutching his stomach in hysterics. Her coat slipped from his arm and plopped back on the floor at his feet.

She scowled. “It’s not funny!”  

“That-that’s the silliest thing I’ve ever _heard,_ Sara! Ask _her?”_ he gasped. “I can’t! It’s impossible!”

“No! It’s not impossible! You’re just a coward!”

“Asking someone like my princess to a soiree would be like a cockroach asking a butterfly to dig through the garbage with him!”

“Then die alone for all I care, cockroach!” The redhead pouted angrily. “I’m just trying to help!”

Gaspard’s laughter fizzled into a sting of shame. Sighing and raking a hand through his messy hair, he said, “I know you’re trying to help. I messed it up the last time I tried to talk to her.”

“You didn’t mess it up. You said Coccinelle left you on a roof.”

“She did, but…” He searched for another argument. “Sara, she lives across the city.”

“Doesn’t she have a carriage being all fancy princess-like?”

“She’s not the same as us. You haven’t seen her. She’s on a different level - a different _everything_ actually.”

Sara simply rolled her eyes.

He groaned. “Look, I’ll think about it. Chances are Papa and I won’t even get to go. We are busy here from dawn till dusk most days.”

“If you really wanted to go, Papa Dupain would let you in a heartbeat.”

The rain began to tumble outside - the thunder rolling above their heads. Gaspard found himself fresh out of excuses. Shoulders dropping, he bent to pick up the coat once more, brushing invisible dirt from the shabby fabric.

He nodded to the bowl beside her.

“I’ve got to get back to the macarons, Sara. I want to get them done before Papa comes back home.”

She took the hint: her jaw stiff and her huff silent. Leaping off the table, she briskly stomped to him and snatched her coat from his hands.

“You _swear_ you’ll think about it?” she demanded, draping the coat over her head.

“On my grave,” he replied, a hand over his heart.

Watching her run quickly down the alleyway, he exhaled slowly. A tiredness was creeping over him.

“A _soiree,_ huh? Aren’t you the party animal?” Plagg’s voice popped into his ear. The small cat, a whiskered smirk spreading on his mouth, slipped out of his collar to perch on his shoulder.

“Oh, don’t you start, too.” Gaspard rolled his eyes.

“Unlike her, I’m not pressuring you to do any dancing,” the kwami drawled. Spicy green eyes suddenly crinkled happily. “I’m just thinking of all the _food.”_

Despite himself, the blond chuckled at the drooling cat, tapped a finger affectionately on his little head, and quietly closed the back door.  

***************************************

“Claudette? Honey bunny?” Bourgeois cooed outside the closed door. He gave it a quick knock with his knuckles. “You haven’t come out all day.”

There was a smash of broken glass on the other side of door and both father and several maids jumped back in alarm.

Blinking, he cleared his throat nervously and tried again.

“Darling?”

_“Go away!”_

“Darling, please come out. Everyone is worried about you.”

_“Why do you care? Why does anyone care about me? Bernard asked Solene to go, daddy! He asked her instead of me! She’s going to see Esclarmonde and get married to him!”_

“I can take you to see it another night-”

_“I don’t want to go with you! I want to go with Bernard! He was supposed to be my Roland! My knight!”_

Sighing, his large shoulders dropped. Ever since she’d come home from the Montilyet’s yesterday, she’d been in a terrible state. Having placed a maid at his daughter’s door in case she came out, the final report was she hadn’t ate, slept, or spoken - except to scream; which usually followed by something crashing loudly.

Biting his bottom lip nervously, he tried knocking again.

This time - there was no answer.

***************************************

The large room was dark and destroyed. Lamps shattered on the floor, furniture overturned, bed torn apart, the blonde was standing amidst the ruin of her once beautiful bedroom. Hair a tangled mess and dressing gown wrinkled from her rage, she held the beautiful drawing of Solene in her fingertips.

But she was frozen - listening.

She whispered back, answering the mysterious voice in her head.

As the words left her lips, pure black shadows dripped from the drawing, spreading to cover her from head to toe. It washed her tears away, an iridescent veil whisking over her golden hair to fall over her face. Power surged through her limbs, her dressing gown smoothing into thick, black, silk robes fit for a queen.

No. Not a queen.

She looked at the drawing in her hand - now a lovely delicate crown made of twisted silver. A smile brushed her lips as she placed the crown upon her veiled head.

She was more than a simple queen.

She was an empress.

***************************************

Struggling with the buttons on his new servant’s uniform, the high-collared blouse was already irritating his tender neck and chin. After the ninth attempt at the tiny buttonhole, the young boy groaned in frustration and flopped on the small bed. Arms spread, his eyes flicked to the window. A light drizzle was sprinkling the windowpane

“Giving up already, _my lady?”_ Wayzz asked through a snort of laughter. Settled on the bedpost, his good-natured grin twinkled down at the frustrated Guardian.

Fu rolled his eyes and sat up. “Very funny. You should count yourself lucky you don’t have to wear clothes. I know Louis is only trying to help, but this uniform is ridiculous.”

“It’s not his fault you’re two sizes smaller than what they had for men.” The green kwami shrugged. “Personally, I think you look dashing in a woman’s blouse.”

Fingering a ruffle at the sleeve, Fu sighed - before a violent twist in his stomach sent him reeling forward. He choked for air, the pain of it leaving his head swimming.

The turtle was there in an instant, paw lightly touching his cheek.

“Fu?”

“Wayzz,” he panted. “A-Akuma...”

“I know.”

The churning in his stomach cleared, but a sharp knife of foreboding carved up and down his spine. Heart pounding in his ears, Fu shivered as he swung his legs to the floor. Knees bouncing, his shaking fingers fiddled with the bracelet around his wrist. Thin eyes dashed to the simple cupboard where he’d stashed his precious satchel.

The green kwami was shaking his head, immediately cuing in to the young Guardian’s thoughts.

“You can’t go,” Wayzz said firmly. “You’re forgetting yourself. Remember your mission, Fu. If you get caught, we are all doomed. You are the only one who can find it.”

Hands covering his face, the low sigh that left his lips ended in a growl. “But every time an akuma appears it feel like I’ve sent them to their deaths.”

“You are motherhenning your Chosen.”

“I know, I know, I _know,_ ” he groaned darkly, “but it’s not right. They aren’t ready for this kind of danger. The one controlling the Butterfly is more cunning, _more ruthless,_ than I imagined. The balance is completely off-kilter! They’ve never had proper training! What if the lack of training kills them!? What if the Butterfly gets his hands on their Miraculous and I lose the Ladybug or the Cat - or _both?_ I will have murdered two children just to keep myself safe!”

Hands dropping back to his lap, there was an aged, hollowed look in his youthful eyes.

Wayzz sighed. “The burden of a Guardian is heavy, but you are wiser than you give yourself credit. Disruption between Creation and Destruction is nothing new - even in the beginnings of time there has never been a perfect equilibrium-”

“This is not just a matter of equilibrium. They are completely out of sync, Wayzz.”

“And they’ll find their way! You have to let them figure it out!”

“I can’t just abandon them-”

“I never said abandon them!” The turtle cried. “But you know the rules! Too much interference will disrupt the balance even more! They must find it within – together!”

The boy got quiet, back straight and eyes tight.

“But… it feels so _wrong._ No-” he shook his head, “-it _is_ wrong.”

“Fu,” the kwami whispered with hard bite in his voice. “ _Please._ You said you wouldn’t throw yourself into danger anymore. You promised me...”

The boy didn’t reply, a hard resolve beginning to spread across his young face. Glancing at Wayzz, he gave him a pained smile.

“I’m sorry, mon amie. I just…” he sighed. “... I can’t take it anymore. I’m afraid I’m going to break that promise.”

The green kwami’s eyes blew wide. “Fu, stop-!”

“Wayzz- _Transformez-moi.”_

***************************************

Bernard had been blessedly silent throughout the entire ride. Carriage stopping outside the gold-beige beauty of Théâtre Lyrique, she followed her father out, hand gracefully perched on the footman’s arm.

Just as she was about to take the steps towards the Théâtre entrance, Bernard snagged her elbow and wrapped her arm around his. Mouth popping open in surprise - he shot her a thin smirk before strolling through the double doors with his chest puffed out. Immediately, she caught multiple eyes shifting in their direction.

Apparently, the Bourgeois rumor had spread like a plague.

Whispers, quiet murmurs, and many glares of disgust - Bernard guided her through the parting crowd with the strut of a peacock.

Escorting her past the throng and up the grand staircase, he leaned to her ear: “This is what being my ally feels like, Solene. I can protect you.”

She didn’t reply, chills of uneasiness shivering down her spine.

Filing through the branching hallways to the Abelin’s personal box, which was situated over the right side of the stage, Solene sat obediently next to Bernard, her gaze switching from the pink purse in her lap to the swaying scarlet curtains of the stage. Théâtre Lyrique was beginning to fill up, flounces of dresses, low rumbles of conversation. Many below looked up at their box, some with binoculars to get a better look. She resisted the urge to slink down in her chair - the unfortunate corset keeping her from doing so.

Instead, she took all the scrutiny silently, head held high like a proud soldier.

 _Once I get home, I’ll transform._ She decided, feeling braver with that prospect in her future. _I’ll escape and fly away where only the wind can be my judge._

She just had to make it through tonight. She could do this.

The lights dimmed, the orchestra’s music swelled, and she jumped when Bernard’s hand suddenly brushed against her arm - handing her a pair of bronze binoculars. A blush of embarrassment heated her cheeks.

 _Pull yourself together,_ she scolded herself as the curtains parted. She lifted the binoculars to her eyes-

And a sharp pain twisted her stomach.

The breath snatched from her lungs, binoculars slipped from her fingertips and she wrapped her arms around her middle, choking for air.

_“Solene?”_

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m al-alright,” she panted, the tightness finally loosening and her lungs expanding gratefully. Opening her eyes, her heart dropped as she caught Bernard’s feverish stare, his black eyes glinting with suspicion - and eagerness. She looked over her shoulder at her father and the Abelins, the small lanterns in the box showcasing their muted levels of surprise and, in her father’s case, _disapproval._  

Mouth opening and closing, Solene mumbled, “I-I suddenly felt lightheaded. That is all.”

“Overcome with the feminine faints. All this excitement must be hard on her delicate nature,” Her father added for attempted damage control. A gentle smile on his lips and a glare in his blue eyes, he gestured his head to the door of the box. “Leave and compose yourself, my dear. Return when you are able to _sit still_.”

Without another word, she stood - stumbling a bit on the hem of her dress - and hurried up the stairs to leave. The high operatic singing began just as she closed the door and crossed the hallway to lean against the ruby wallpaper. Her body was shivering. There was the taste of fever in her throat; the panic reopening a barely-healed wound.

Tremendous power, seething rage.

She felt it in her bones. Arms shaking, her head swirled with memories of the dark storage shed - the cold, the heat, the anger, the _fear._   

Just like the doctor, this akuma was strong - _terrifyingly strong._

Maybe even stronger.

“Solene?” Tikki’s voice piped up from the purse in her fingers. The crimson kwami poked her head from the drawstring. “Solene! You must transform! There’s an akuma!”

“I-I know…” Shaking, rocking slowly back and forth, she tried to reach for her Coccinelle strength. Her indomitable willpower. The power to say the words that would transform her.

But all she felt was _cold._

“Solene!”

The door to the box opened and Bernard stepped out. With a tiny _‘eep!’_ Tikki disappeared back into the purse.

“You’re doing it, aren’t you?” he asked, intensely. With quick steps, he grabbed her shoulders tightly. “You’re summoning the monster! Thank you, Solene!”

“I am doing no such thing!” she snapped. The raven-head angrily brushed his hands off her. “I feel dizzy! That is all. You should return to the Opera.”

“And leave you? Can you not make them when other people are watching? Just make sure Coccinelle will come! Make sure the monster is strong enough to-”

“You are a _fool_ , Bernard Abelin! You aren’t listening to me! _I cannot make monsters!”_

At that declaration, a thunderous boom snarled beyond the door - trembling the entire Opera House. The lanterns rattled, the walls shook. A chorus of frightened shrieks echoed just beyond the door in the Théâtre - before being cut like a record player. The silence that followed froze her to the core. The tightness in her belly was making her ill.

“What-what’s happening?” he asked, a spring of fear finally puddling in his eyes. “Everyone screamed.”

 _“It’s… it’s here…”_ she whispered.

She gasped as the door burst open and her father appeared, his eyes glowing gold and his face crossing into a menacing snarl.

“Father!”

“Long live the _Veiled Empress!_ ” he bellowed, rushing out to grab her.

Dodging just as his fingertips grazed her sleeve, she snatched Bernard’s hand and yanked him into a run. They thundered together down the hallway, her cumbersome skirts tangling in her legs. One by one, the Théâtre doors swung open behind them, crowds of people rushing out. Pulling him to the grand staircase, his hand was whipped from hers and Bernard shrieked as a tall gentleman pulled him back into the crowd.

“No!” she cried, stopping on the staircase.

That one moment - that brief pause in her step.

It was her doom.

Rough hands scooped her up and she screamed, unable to wiggle free. Thrown over a shoulder, she struggled, fought, kicked, clawed – to no avail.

 _“Go, Tikki! Hide!”_ Solene shouted and threw the pink purse over the railing just as she was carried down the hallway and through an open door.

To the dark stage.

To where the akuma was waiting for her.

***************************************

Gaspard almost knocked his batter bowl over, his stomach clenched in pain. Groaning, he sank to his knees, hands desperately grasping on the edge of the baking table. The goopy spoon he was using hung loosely in his fingertips.

Just as quickly as the pain came, it vanished.

He was left breathless. A shadow of tightness lacing across his chest. A taste of despair _._

It all came rushing back, pulling him, gnawing at him.

The shivers of burning fever. The panic in her brilliant blue eyes-

“Kid!” Plagg’s voice broke through his panic attack and he caught the black kwami’s worried stare. An ebony paw touched his shoulder. “You okay? Kid!”

“It’s bad...” he hissed, hands shaking.

“I know - I felt it, too. But you gotta be brave, kid. You’re not going to let Coccinelle fight alone _again,_ are you?”

Taking a deep breath, Gaspard shook his head, messy blond hair falling into his tight green eyes. No, he wouldn’t - _couldn’t_ \- let Coccinelle down. He’d promised himself. A flood of resolve strengthened him and he pushed down the terrifying memories. The cold. The _fear._

He’d finally see his partner. He’d see Coccinelle and they’d work together to save Paris. He’d give her his drawing and see her smile.

She’d go back to being his friend.

Just as it should be.

“I won’t let her go alone ever again.”

“That’s my kitten.” The kwami’s whiskers lifted in a smile of pride.

Standing up, Gaspard tossed the spoon on the wax paper - a grin, very much like his kwami’s, spread on his lips.  
  
“Plagg, _Transformez-moi!”_


	17. Veiled Empress Part 5

Dupain shifted his feet nervously as he set the large sack down on the food-laden table and made sure the long baguettes didn’t tip the bag into the gravy bowl. Glancing around the small room, there was only a handful of people in attendance, most muttering quietly to each other. He spied the older matron who had greeted him at the door the other day, her once sharp gaze fizzled into a thin haze of despair.

Perhaps he should give condolences to her first-

“A friend of Jacque’s, Monsieur?” A deep voice asked behind him and Marcus turned to spy a thick handlebar mustache and dark eyes glimmering behind frame glasses.

“Why, yes.” Marcus nodded with a smile. “He was a patron at my bakery for many years.”

“Ah, you’re the one who made the baguettes Jacque was so fond of,” he said kindly.

“Marcus Dupain.” He shook the man’s hand.

“Jean Antoine Villemin - it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Finally, sir?”

“Jacque spoke a lot about you and your talent with pastries.”

Marcus blushed and his chest swelled with pride. “I will have to let my son know. He’s been handling most of the sweet delicacies as of late.”

The gentleman’s mustache twitched. “I will admit, there is another reason I have been wanting to meet you, sir. Not just for the baked goods.”

Dupain blinked in surprise. “I was unaware my reputation preceded me.”

“According to recent news, your bakery has been frequently visited by a Hero of Paris.”

Marcus missed the man’s eyes narrowing studiously and modestly brushed the comment away with a wave of his large hand. “A simple rumor run amok. Certainly has been wonderful for business, but unfortunately that’s all it is.”

“Such a shame,” Villemin said softly. “The girl - _Coccinelle the Vigilante_ , as she calls herself - she’s an unusual girl. Very unusual. And _powerful_.”

A warning alarm rang in Marcus’s head as the man’s mustache dipped into a concentrated frown. He was fishing for something and Marcus wasn’t sure what for yet. But if concerned Coccinelle-

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“I’m sure you have seen her in action, right? Wasn’t it your bakery that was destroyed during the first monster attack?”

“I wasn’t around at the time.” It was true. Marcus had been caught by the monster’s spell.

“Hm,” Villemin hummed, suddenly looking like a spider waiting to catch a fly. “From what I read, her powers can fix everything in the snap of a finger. The city’s civilians had been transformed into flowers only to be completely cured. Your bakery was destroyed in the fight, no?”

“My son told me-”

“But it was completely restored in the end, was it not?” Villemin cut in briskly. “How simply miraculous.”

Dupain straightened his shoulders. “I am grateful to the Heroes of Paris. They have come just when we needed them the most.”

The man nodded. “Quite, quite. With these dangerous monsters cropping up every which way- I simply wish the Heroes of Paris weren’t so _aloof._ No reporter has been able to catch one of them for an interview. There is hardly a news article with fresh information unless they interview those involved in the attacks - and even those are frustratingly vague. It seems part of her power involves memory loss once the monster is cured,” Villemin added under his breath, a touch of frustration lacing his voice.

“I apologize I hardly have time pick up a newspaper. My days are spent with flour, sugar, and ovens.”

Villemin smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You are missing out on some _fascinating_ theories about the Vigilante, my friend. There are rumors she is a runaway duchess from England. Or a slave girl from the Americas. Oh, they run rampant.”

“She is an enigma, I’ll grant you.”

“Regardless of who she is behind the mask, the Vigilante has a marvelous gift: to fix what has been broken. To turn the timetable of disaster and put the world back together.”

“She is powerful, yes-”

There was a glint in the man’s eyes. “Such a gift would be beneficial not only for fixing the damages the monsters wrought, but on an even higher scale.”

“I am unsure of what you mean.” Marcus frowned, crossing his large arms. A spring of worry bubbled inside him. This man was up to something.

“Think of it this way: with the power to instantly erase even the deadliest of diseases, she could save thousands-”

“She is still a young girl.” Marcus cut him off, unease increasing by the second. “She fights monsters to save us. That is enough pressure for someone so young.”

“Ah, you _do_ know her on a more personal level, don’t you, Monsieur Dupain?” Villemin suddenly injected, leaning a bit closer to him. “I can gather you are trying to protect her, but I assure you I mean her no harm. Quite the contrary, actually. She has clearly proven she is strong on a level far beyond mortal men.”

“And what do you know of Coccinelle?”

“As one who has personally had a taste of her curing abilities, I know there is untapped potential. I, myself, have felt the chilling despair of death’s hand upon my throat and I was saved. Pulled from the depths just in time by her gifts. I owe Coccinelle my life.”

“That doesn’t mean you understand who she is-”

“Which is why I have approached you to introduce myself. I reassure you again: there is no need to protect her. I seek only to understand. To gather what little information we have about her. And, as someone who clearly knows her, I figured you were a bridge to cross.”

“And what do you want with her once you do find her?”

“Merely to examine the extent of her powers, of course.”

Marcus scowled. “To make her your test subject, you mean.”

Villemin’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing. I would never harm her-”

“Coccinelle is not an experiment!”

“I believe you are attached to her even more than you claim, Monsieur Dupain. What if I were to seek her cat partner instead? The boy has great power as well. One worthy of study.”

Eyes had started to glance their way, the quiet conversations filtering into shocked silence.

“Whether you speak of Coccinelle or her partner, the Heroes of Paris are not-”

“She has powers to cure _sickness!_ She could have saved Jacque! She could _still_ save others just like him. Rid the entire world of plague and pestilence! But she refused me, Dupain. She let him die. The Vigilante must be forced to see reason. She needs only test her abilities - see how far she can take them-”

“I am here to bring my condolences for my patron and friend! I refuse to take part in this conversation further, Monsieur!” Marcus barked. There were several loud gasps and something like glass breaking. Feeling hot with anger and embarrassment, the small group in mourning watched him with mixtures of disdain and shock.

He addressed them with an angered blush and a bow of his head. “I apologize if I have caused any upset to Monsieur Révérer’s family and guests. I will see myself out and trouble you no longer.”

“I will find her!” Villemin snapped at his back, following him to the door. Dupain’s heart pounded hard in his throat. “I will find her and make her see-”

“I swear to any saint listening: as long as I draw breath, I will _never_ let you near her,” Marcus snarled, whipping to face the startled man. “Coccinelle is not some animal you can strap to a table to poke and prod. She is a human girl with thoughts and feelings. Her powers are not yours.”

“They are not hers either,” Villemin hissed. “There have been others buried in the past. She isn’t the only one. I will find the source and use it. The world will be saved because of me!”

“Over my dead body,” Dupain vowed between clenched teeth. Turning on toe, he swung the door open and stomped into the pouring rain.

“It very well might be!” Villemin’s words followed him out the slamming front door.

*************************

 Senses sharpening over the rain drenched city, he perched on the slanted rooftop of Montilyet Mansion, water bouncing off the green sedge hat on his head. Bowing, small palms pressed together as if in prayer, he reached for the location - the tug of kwami energy.

It came to him - the lavender string of Nooroo’s power calling to him from darkness.

Eyes snapping open, Jade Turtle took a running leap off the mansion and sailed over the manicured gardens to land in the empty street beyond the gate. A horse knickered down the lane, spooked at his sudden appearance. Knees bent, he jumped - soaring in the air, his strong fingers catching the ledge of a building across the street. He swung up, feet thumping quietly on a long terrace.

He was a blur in the howling wind. A shifting green haze in the darkness. Following the pull of the Butterfly’s akuma, Jade Turtle ran - leaping over chimneys and sliding down rooftops.

A small hitch hooked in his stomach and his head instantly whipped to the northeast. A whisper of an ebony thread drifted from the bakery’s location.

The Cat had transformed.

Lips pressed together, Jade Turtle focused his inner sight on Nooroo’s power while keeping an eye out for a red cord to appear.

The Cat was quick: gaining speed, the black thread strengthening. Flying over an intersection, Jade went further west to avoid him, slipping in and out of the creeping shadows. The rain would take care of his scent, but the Cat’s night vision was troubling. He didn’t want to risk revealing himself too early - if at all. Best to stay out of sight for as long as possible and intervene if necessary.

Jade Turtle skidded to a halt on a wet roof - the purple thread of the Butterfly’s power cusping from a large cream building.

An opera house?

Wasn’t this… the Lyrique?

Lights flickered inside, the doors were barred shut. He waited for movement inside and noticed shadows cresting over the lower windows. A patrol. The akuma had a lookout in place. Noticing the dark round windows lining the top dome, he let out a slow breath to calm himself.

The Montilyets were there. And if his Ladybug was trapped… unable to transform into Coccinelle...

He might have to expose himself after all. Who knew what kind of monster lay in wait? They needed Coccinelle.

Paris needed Coccinelle.

Jade grimaced.

This might get loud...

Eyes zeroing in on his target, he jumped, tossing the shield as he went. It embedded into one of the fourth story circular windows, creating just enough of a crack for Jade to burst through after it. Snatching the shield in the air, he instantly turned to grab hold of a thin railing along the side of the wall. Dangling dangerously high over the stage, he pulled himself over and crouched, his heart in his throat.  He was on a wooden rafter - small enough for a stage crew to sneak around the sidelines of the Opera House without being seen by guests. Jade waited for the shout of surprise at his arrival. The shatter of glass should have gained the akuma’s attention.

All was silent. All was tense.

Shaking hand over his mouth, he waited with eyes clenched shut-

_“I shall make you love me even more than you love her!”_

Eyes snapping open, he glanced down at the lit stage and his limbs froze.

The crowd, each sitting docile in their seats, faces entranced with eyes glowing gold, were silent and still: obedient sentients.

And just as he’d suspected. There she was. His Ladybug. Chained to a stone altar that was obviously a prop for the opera. Her hair was a mess of dark curls, her golden dress was torn at her waist. She struggled, kicked against her bonds, but to no avail. Beyond her, with arms outstretched and an iridescent veil draped over her head, the akuma shimmered with a bewitching light.

His instincts told him to look away. Instead, he focused his inner eye on one thing: the location of the Ladybug kwami. Placing the shield back on his head, he clasped his hands in meditation - and almost staggered in relief as a faint red light called to him from a corner below the stage.

Tikki was safe. For now.

“ _Come to me, Miraculous of Creation. Follow my voice. I am here to help,”_ he called to the light.

The crimson spark grew brighter - listening to him in surprise. A small whistle of wind and the red kwami was hovering before him. Large blue eyes wide and fearful, she regarded him with tear-filled relief.

“Guardian!” She squeaked, zipping closer to his face. “You came for us! With Wayzz! I-”

Jade hushed her with a hand.

“You must remain out of sight, little one. It is not safe for you to be separated from your Chosen. Stay with me for the time being while I figure out how to free her.”

“Please help her, wise one. She is… Solene is…”

Holding out a hand, the kind kwami landed in his fingers-

Just as a tumultuous _boom_ blasted through the opera house.

Black thread whipping violently in his mind’s eye, Jade held Tikki close.

The Cat had finally arrived.

**********************

 Solene had helplessly watched Bernard’s transformation into the akuma’s slave - his panicked face suddenly transfixed on the girl as soon as she lifted back the veil. The gold of her enchanting spell had bled into his dark eyes. Solene squeezed her eyes shut as the akuma turned to her. She refused to open them - even as her bewitched father forced her chin towards the akuma.  

“No matter,” the akuma had mumbled. “Tie her up for now. She is nothing.”

Dragged by her arms, her heart thundered in her chest as bronze chains tightened against her struggling body - binding her to a stone prop that had been dragged to the middle of the stage. All around her, the crowd was settling back in their seats - a sea of golden glowing eyes wide with enraptured pliancy. Stomach turning, head spinning, Solene turned her head away from their lifeless stares and struggled against the cold terror curling inside.

Even without Tikki, she could still be strong. Coccinelle was who she truly was on the inside. Without powers, Solene could still find a way to fight.  

She would be fine.

Everything would be-

 _“Tighter!”_ the akuma snapped the word. Her father, his expression twisted into a terrifying snarl, yanked the chain - cutting it tightly across her breast. She gasped as air was painfully crushed from her lungs. Ribs sore, breath coming in short bursts, Solene looked into those cold blank eyes shimmering with gold.

“Fa-Father,” she wheezed.

_“Silence!”_

Perched on what was supposed to be Esclarmonde’s throne with her head tilted haughtily, the akuma visibly scrutinized Solene from underneath the veil. She leaned on the armrest, a lax-like royalty, her shimmering silver crown glinting in the spotlight above her head.

“Am I not brilliant, Bernard?” the akuma suddenly asked, the proud grin on her face audible.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever beheld!” He announced, the words bouncing around the opera house. The gold gripped his eyes. He knelt at her feet like a prince.

“I should make you worship me like this, Solene Montilyet,” the veiled girl crowed.

 _Sickening fear. The iron taste of blood on her lips._  

No!

She was strong!

“I will never…” she hissed through a trembling voice.

“I have power!” the akuma snapped. “Power that is stronger even than the Heroes of Paris! I will be the hero now! I will be the one who is worshipped. And I can make you bow before me. I can make you love me, too.”

“She is inferior to you, my Empress!” Bernard grinned stupidly up at her.

“See?!” the akuma cackled, reaching down to pat his greased dark locks like a pet. “I win, Solene! I have won his heart! I have turned everyone against you! Even your own father would rather see you in chains than disobey me-” The rest of the sentence seemed to catch in her throat. Leaning forward, the akuma went unexpectedly quiet.

Eyes wide in shock, Solene watched her though she knew it was a risk.

Something was happening...

“I will do as I wish!” the akuma suddenly cried, banging her fists on the throne armrests. “I am the Veiled Empress! You cannot control me any longer, Violet Empereur! I am powerful! More powerful than you!”

The air was tight against the chains, but the raven head still managed to gasp.

 _Violet Empereur!_ He was talking to his akuma!

The akuma suddenly leaned forward on the throne, her hands clutching her veiled head as if in agony.

“I shall never hurt a hair on my dear Bernard’s head!” She snarled. Jumping from the throne, she began to pace the stage. “Solene shall pay for what she has done to me! Embarrassed me! Made me a laughing stock of our entire social circle! No more! I have won-"

Somewhere high above Solene’s head, there was a crash of breaking glass.

 _Chat!_ Her heart leaped. Glancing at the Veiled Empress, it was clear she was distracted by the voice in her head. Slipping her gaze to the dark rafters hovering over the stage, there was nothing but shadow.  

Where was he? Was that truly him?

“I shall make you love me as well then! She is nothing! Solene is no one!” the akuma screamed, voice bouncing over the round walls. “I shall make you love me even more than you love her!”

That snapped her attention. Mouth falling open, blue eyes wide, the words raced with her heart.

_I shall make you love me even more than you love her!_

_...Even more than you love her..._

_Violet Empereur. The enemy._

_He knew her as Solene._

_He... loved her?_

The idea instantly came to her before she could overthink it. With a small sad cry, Solene struggled haplessly against the chains. It hurt to fight, the chains digging even harder against her ribs, but the pain brought tears to her eyes.

The Veiled Empress glanced at her through the veil.

 _“Please…”_ Solene whimpered, feeling a tear drop down the side of her face. _“Please let me go…”_

The girl was silent for a heartbeat - just watching her struggle.

“I shall not release her!” the akuma suddenly shrieked. “You cannot force me! The world will see how pathetic she is! Solene Montilyet is ruined! And I am unstoppable-”

A thundering _crash_ echoed past the large Théâtre and froze both women in place. Solene blinked, head turning to the closed aisle doors. Golden eyes of the crowd slowly drifted to follow her gaze.

Her heart burned with hope.

The large doors to the opera burst open, ricocheting raucously off the back wall.

And there he was.

He spun his metal weapon over his head, his handsome face curled in a snarl, before holding it at the ready; pointed straight at the akuma on the stage.

Relief flooded her and a real tear brushed down her cheek.

He had come. Her partner.

Her true love dressed in black.

_Chat._

***************************

His drawing of Coccinelle tucked safely in his coat, the belt-tail whipping through the stormy wind, Chat’s claws dug hard on the slick rooftops, boots skidding around smoking chimneys. He followed the akuma’s trail, his heart fluttering nervously in his throat. Passively, Chat watched for a speck of red to appear in the distance. Ears trained on the familiar whistle of wire slinging across the city.  

_Coccinelle._

Staff spinning over his head, he catapulted across another intersection and continued to sprint. The akuma trail was leading him towards the Seine, closer to the Tower. Brushing wet locks out of his eyes, he passed a few more rooftops before spying a large cream building. He knew it was a Théâtre of some sort - not that he ever had the money or time to attend any plays.

The akuma was definitely in there.

He glanced around once more for any sign of Coccinelle - nothing, but a rain drenched city.

A strange nervousness lurched in his stomach. Where was she?

The sound of glass breaking caught his attention and Chat’s head snapped back to the Théâtre. Taking a deep breath, his muscles tensed for a fight - the shiver of fear bravely pushed down. Coccinelle would show up eventually. He trusted her. He could take care of the situation until she showed up.  

Flipping off the roof, Chat landed with a catlike grace on the front steps of the Théâtre and hurried to the front door. A frown appeared on his forehead. Wooden planks barred the large entrance.

Whatever was in here obviously had set up a defense.

 _“I shall not release her!”_ A woman’s shrieking voice was clear in his sharp hearing. Ears perked, green eyes wide, Chat felt his stomach hitch.

The akuma.

The voice continued: _“You cannot force me! The world will see how pathetic she is! Solene Montilyet is ruined!”_  

His heart stopped. _Solene!_

The sound of her name drove him. All thoughts wiping from his mind, Chat’s teeth gritted as he raised his boot and smashed the solid door in. Pole slinging to the ready, he took in the scene. Several well-dressed gentlemen, pacing the lavishly decorated atrium, turned with eyes all an unnatural shade of gold. Ducking a swinging fist coming at his left, Chat slipped past each assailant as easily as a dark shadow and leaped up the carpeted stairs in one jump. The akuma’s pull was there - strengthening behind the doors.

_Solene._

He burst through the doors, tense and ready.

His eyes instantly found her. On the stage, her golden dress sparkling like an angel underneath the brilliant lights, Solene’s long hair was unbound and messily draped off a stone pillar. She was wrapped in tight chains, her cerulean gaze desperate and hopeful.

“Chat!” she screamed, lovely voice breaking. “Don’t look at her eyes-!”

“ _Silence!”_ A veiled woman roared from the stage and he watched a man pull on the chains holding Solene down. She let out a gasp of pain.

The sound of her cry ripped anger through him. Hard fingers grabbed his shoulder from behind and Chat instantly snagged the arm and flung the man’s body over his back.

 _“Capture him!”_ The akuma shrieked.

The crowd was at once a scrambling mess, gold-gleaming eyes narrowing to catch him. Hands reaching, bodies slamming against each other, Chat ducked and dodged before leaping in the air above their heads to stand on a row of seats. He balanced, watching the throng stumble blindly to follow him. He was suddenly jerked back - fingers from behind snatching his belt tail. Twisting the pole, he knocked the hand away, but that allowed two sets of arms to wrap around his leg.  

“ _Chat!”_ Solene cried.

“I’m coming!” he called, fighting against three more hands latching on his knees and thighs. He was getting dragged down.

“No! Run away!” Solene screamed. “Get out of here and save yourself!”

“ _Not without you!_ ” he roared, kicking several arms and freeing a leg. He planted his pole on the ground and pressed the green paw button - the weapon tossing him high in the air. Catapulting for the stage, he met Solene’s wide blue eyes-

“Look at me!” the akuma called, whipping her veil from her face and stepping forward. Gold shimmering almost like a trance, his gaze flicked to her-

“Don’t look at her!” Solene cried and he snapped his eyes shut as he landed, rolled out, and jumped back to his feet.

 _“Get him! Bring him to me!”_ The akuma snarled, her voice like thunder.

Arms suddenly wrapped around his waist, another large body tackled him to the hard floor. Pole clattering out of his grasp, Chat landed at the foot of the altar, breath knocked out of his lungs.

“Keep him still,” the veiled girl growled, stepping closer to him as he wheezed for air. “Force him to look at me.”

Eyes squeezed shut, heart in his throat, he blindly struggled, but more hands grabbed him-

 _“SHELTER!”_ A voice bellowed from above.

Startled, Chat’s eyes snapped open to spy a green blur falling gracefully from the domed ceiling. The figure landed with a wood-splintering _crunch_ beside him _,_ the sheer force of the stranger’s mysterious power knocking away the akuma and her minions. A brilliant green light sprang from the crouching figure, spreading to cover Chat and the altar in a large circle.

“Get up!” the stranger roared, holding a large shield on his arm. Outside the circling green light, the akuma’s scream was muffled.  

Chat’s mouth dropped open as he noticed thin arms and bony shoulder blades - the newcomer’s head barely coming up to the altar in height.

He was just a kid!

 _“Get up!”_ he repeated, his young voice tense. “Free her with _Cataclysm!”_

Shambling to his feet, Chat stumbled back to the altar and snatched up his fallen weapon. Catching eyes with Solene, she looked as dumbfounded as he felt.

“ _Cataclysm!”_ He touched the chains binding her and they fell away in a crumbling pile of ash. Without asking for permission, Chat boldly scooped her in his arms. She clung to him, her body flushed against his chest. Arms looping around his neck, his gaze caught her open lips and hot tingling spiked down his spine to twist sickly in his stomach.

“Go! Get her out of here!” The kid barked. The bewitched crowd snarled from beyond the shield, fists slamming against the barrier.

 _“How?_ We’re surrounded!” Solene called, holding on to Chat’s shoulder’s tightly - his throat tightened sharply as her fingers softly touched the blond hairs on the nape of his neck.

“Use the rafters above us! You’ll find a broken window! That’s how I got in!”

Solene tensed in his arms. “What about you?”

The boy glanced over his shoulder and a strange flash of recognition ran through Chat.

“I’ll find you! _Go!”_

“Hang on!” Chat shouted, pressing the paw on his pole. She let out a small squeal as they were tossed beyond the kid’s barrier and high into the air, her golden dress billowing out around them. Landing on the shaking rafter, the akuma’s shrilling screams followed them as Chat raced to the broken window. He slipped out and dropped the four stories down to land on the wet concrete road. Legs flexed like a cat, he catapulted again to a rooftop and continued to sprint. Solene buried her face in his neck, her long, dark locks wildly whipping against his face. The rain had let up somewhat, a small drizzle dampening the low curls of her hair.

“Where are you taking me?" Solene asked curiously, head lifting to watch their journey.

“Somewhere safe,” Chat panted, slipping past a low rooftop before springing to land on a small terrace. His ring chirped on his finger. “My power is running out. I’ll be changing back soon.”

“Chat…” The sudden softness of her voice made him stumble a bit on a loose shingle. He glanced down at her to catch blue eyes glimmering. Her lovely face was alighted with awe, shining like a sun. Messy hair, ripped golden gown - she was a waking dream in his arms.

“You came for me,” she said quietly - his enhanced hearing was barely able to catch it.

“I-I-” Broken words emerged as he tensed, clawed fingers shifting on her body. She was warm, soft. His gaze slipped down to her smiling pink lips and he instantly whisked them away to focus a bit too hard on his next jump.

“Thank you.”

He scoured his brain for something suave: “Seems you like to get into trouble, Mademoiselle.”

The blush racing across her cheeks made him grin proudly.

“Good thing you come around when I need you.” The beauty giggled - before her blue eyes widened and she glanced around. “Wait - where are we going?”

“The Dupain bakery,” he answered. It was the only location he could think of. Surely the akuma wouldn’t think to look for her there. He stopped just before the jump. Below, the bakery, with lanterns still lit, glowed like a safe haven in the slick, dark streets.

“I-I, no, I can’t go there!” She shook her head, blue eyes growing wild. Solene wiggled in his arms.

“What - why?” He frowned. “It’s a safe place. You won’t be harmed. I promise the Dupain's will take good care of you.”

“But I’ll see _him!”_ she cried.

His heart hammered in his chest. His stomach turned sharply. _“Who?”_

Her mouth popped open, but the name never left. Instead, she closed her lips and sighed shortly.

“I g-guess the bakery is fine,” she finally murmured, eyes slipping down to her lap.

Silence was weighted between them as he made the final leap to the bakery rooftop and slipped down to the alleyway. Setting her down, she wrapped her arms around her chest - looking small and frightened.

“Are they okay with you entering their home?” she asked hesitantly, visibly shivering.

“No one is here. I’d hear if they were,” he said, reassuringly. Her open fear worried him, a gnawing anxiousness clawing inside. Turning the latch, he let her enter first, her blue eyes immediately dancing over the messy baking table and batter bowl.

“They left out their stuff?” She frowned.

He scratched the back of his neck with a blush. “Something urgent must have come up.”

“Do you know them well?”

He racked his brain quickly. “You could call them family friends.”

She took this answer without comment. Instead, she turned to face him and the lantern light shined on her golden dress. It was surreal to see her - the woman of his dreams - standing in the back bakery. Her hair, draping down her back, was windswept and tangled. His eyes caught on a ripped seam on the waist of her dress, the tell-tale hint of a corset peeking through. His ring beeped and he jumped in surprise. Heart thundering in his ears, heat flushing his face, Chat quickly turned away from her - ashamed of where he let himself look.

“I’ll-uh, I’ll-I, um…” He silently cursed himself before taking a deep breath. “I’ll find a blanket for you.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Rushing across the room and racing up the stairs, he wrenched his bedroom door open and frantically ripped off his blankets. Holding his wrinkled coverlet to his chest, he swam in nervous excitement, awe, fear, panic - _she was in his house. She was down in the bakery and she was here. And he’d saved her. And-_

Weak kneed tumbling down the hall, he hurried down the stairs to see her inspecting at the batter bowl with interest.

“Here,” he called, trying to keep calm and suave. Draping the blanket over her shoulders, she wrapped it around herself with a small smile.

“It smells like sugar,” she said.

“This entire place smells like sugar.” He grinned stupidly - before his ring began a loud, frantic beeping. Catching eyes, he reached over her to swipe a clawed finger in the batter. She let out a small squeak - eyes wide - and he blushed.

“Sorry. I-I need to recharge. This will have to do.” Hurrying to the backdoor, he opened it and gave her one last look over his shoulder. The brilliant blush that rushed to her cheeks made his heart soar to the stormy heavens.

“Stay safe, Solene.”

With that said, the door closed behind him and he stifled his exhilarated cheer-

Just as a green figure emerged from the shadows.


	18. Veiled Empress Part 6

The green forcefield vanished - and with it, the mysterious figure that had dropped from the Théâtre ceiling. The altar was empty, the chain holding Solene down crumbling to the stage floor in a pile of ash. Her blue eyes narrowing, hands curling into tight fists at her side, the veil, on its own accord, flicked like a ghost’s shadow to cover her face.

“Another hero,” she whispered, her voice echoing in the acoustics. Twisting on her toe, she gracefully strolled back to her throne, a slice of worry prickling inside.  

“And another Miraculous,” the voice in her head hissed angrily.

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Could he be this _Guardian_ you were talking about?”

It was quiet for a moment.

“That’s impossible. The Guardian should be a man, not a child. He must have chosen yet another to hide behind.”

“Reinforcements…” She bit her lip and reached up with veiled fingertips to touch the twisted silver crown on her head. “It’s only a matter of time before they come for me. I don’t - I don’t want to lose this power _._ I am an empress, loved and adored by all. This is who I am supposed to be. A _goddess among men._ ”  

The voice paused. “You saw the Black Cat struggling to save Solene. You almost had him under your spell.”

“Yes, but-”

“You are strong, Veiled Empress. Fight to keep this power. Destroy all that wish to take it from you. Paris is your kingdom.”

“My kingdom…” she repeated, the very words sending shivers of delight down her spine.

“Go forth and conquer what is rightfully yours. Build yourself an army to fight for you.”

The twisted silver crown gleamed in the stage spotlights as she met Bernard’s transfixed, devoted gaze.

“Roland…” she sighed, holding out her hand. He immediately took her fingers with a glowing grin.

Turning the sea of golden eyes glimmered like starlight feverishly awaiting her command, she smiled.

“An empress needs a proper castle,” she announced, thick robes draping to the floor as she stood. Lacing her fingers through Bernard’s, she stepped off the stage, the sea of people parting for her in their reverence.

They filed in behind her - all obedient. All hers.

“Bring them to their knees,” Violet Empereur purred.

**************************

“You brought her here.”

The elation of saving Solene bled away from Chat - only to be replaced with a slice of apprehension. The stranger plucked off a round hat perched on his head, his lips curled down with visible disappointment. Arms and chest strapped in a thin emerald suit from neck to fingertip, a similarly colored robe was wrapped around his thin waist; split at the hip and draping to expose his short calves. Tight orange eyes flicking behind a mask similar to his own, the boy regarded him coolly as he stepped further into the lantern light outside the bakery’s back door.   

“This is not her home. The young baker lives here.”

His light voice was quiet but somehow cut like a thin blade - rebuking.  

Eyes wide, ring feverishly beeping on his finger, questions tangled Chat’s tongue and a lurch of the unknown gripped hard in his stomach.

“The Dupain’s aren’t at home,” Chat finally stumbled out. “It was the only place I could think-”

“I see.” The stranger cut in with disinterest. “I should have foreseen... I shall - I shall take the girl home myself.” Eyes growing distant with dismissal, the boy swept past Chat to grasp the bakery’s handle.

“Wait!” he called, unable to stop himself. “Who are you? Why do you have powers?”

The sprinkle of raindrops fell within the silence; water puddled at their feet. Glancing over his shoulder after a moment’s consideration, the boy sighed: “I don’t have time. The akuma will be strengthening her defense. Undoubtedly, she will be on the move to enchant more under her spell. You will need to recharge, Black Cat - and hunt.”

Chat’s heart twisted in his chest with realization and cold horror.

“B-but Coccinelle! She’s probably headed to the akuma right now! She doesn’t know about its powers! You could tell her! Warn her before she takes on the akuma by herself!” Coccinelle’s drawing, safely forgotten in his coat, was suddenly heavy against his back. Green eyes desperately slipped to the dark clouds as if to spy a whirling red tabard; the ticking of his ring amplifying his helplessness. He’d have to wait to join her. Recharge.

But she was alone again.

_He was always useless._

Catching the boy’s gaze, he noticed the sharp indifference had drained away to a furtive pity.

 _“Peace,_ Black Cat. She is not after the akuma just yet.” The pity lifted to an encouraging curl on the side of his mouth.

“How do you-” Chat began but was cut off.

“I have faith you will be the one to restore the balance. In fact: I have set my life on it. For the moment, the lead is yours. Pick up where she cannot.”

The door opened, warmth and light poured out, and Chat heard Solene’s gasp of surprise. The door closed softly, leaving him in the dark alleyway - the last beep swiveling magic over his body: dirty apron, worn baker’s clothes caked with batter, and Plagg - landing on his shoulder with a tired “oof”. Coccinelle’s drawing was tossed over his head in a whirlwind of the detransformation and Gaspard stumbled forward to catch it before it hit the wet concrete.

Tucking the precious portrait under his arm to shield it from the rain, he glanced at the grumbling kwami - and a smile crept up despite his unease.

“Here, Plagg-” he offered his wet-battered finger to the small cat, “-bon appetit.”

Sniffing, the kwami made a look of disgust before gagging, “Urgh, _what? What is this goop? Sugar?”_

“This is all I’ve got. A lesson learned: go easy on the cheese.”

 _“Gross…”_ The cat scowled, but reluctantly scooped some of the batter with his paw.

Gaspard glanced worriedly into the drizzling sky. Coccinelle still wasn’t after the akuma. She still hadn’t transformed. He’d had enough time to track the monster, save Solene from the Théâtre, and return to the bakery.

Something must have happened to her.  

_"I love it," she had answered, perched on his roof with that messy black hair underneath her ridiculous hat. She’d smiled down at him, mouth full of eclair. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me.”_

“Where are you, Coccinelle?” he whispered.

**************************

Blue eyes slipping around the empty bakery, her stomach twisted. Solene clutched the patchy blanket tighter and shivered in her heavy, damp skirts. The thick scent of sugar and yeast was suffocating without Chat’s comforting presence to distract her; helplessness racing undaunted.

Left alone, her sheer vulnerability was sinking in.

If only she’d transformed in time. If only Bernard hadn’t burst in on her in the hallway, she would have-

The bitter taste of death crept up the back of her throat - cutting off her excuse. Involuntary trembling, hands chillingly cold, she desperately pushed the curl of fear away. Stepping from the back table, her eyes roamed the silent bakery and she bit her lip in quick contemplation. Two massive brick ovens, dark and empty, took the entire space of the back wall. Beige rows of cabinets and drawers, seemingly dusted with a thin layer of flour, lined all the way to the side staircase that Chat had gone up earlier. She knew that staircase led to the Dupain bedrooms - Gaspard’s all the way down the hallway facing the alleyway.

Gaspard. 

_“You left me!”_

Anger.

Hate.

He hated her.

She shouldn’t be here.

She sucked in a breath, panic gripping her in an unrelenting fist. Blue eyes dashing to the closed back door, she twisted on toe to peek out the doorway to the dark counters of the bakery’s front - the long windows showcasing a blackened, rain-drenched, cobblestone street.

_“You just made that decision on your own without any regard to how I feel about it!?”_

Hands shaking, breath catching - she couldn’t see him.

_Helpless._

No.

She shook her head, flyaway dark locks tossing into her eyes. She gritted her teeth behind her lips - against the very thought of it.

She _wasn’t_ helpless. There was something.

There was _always something._

_“Do you think you can just take whatever you want without any regard to how people will feel about it? You call yourself a hero and then steal other people’s gifts?”_

She didn't need Chat. She didn’t need anyone.

Alone _. She could do this alone._

She just needed - Solene bit her lower lip before launching to the side cabinets, the blanket flying off her shoulders to puddle in the middle of the tile floor.

Wrenching them open with abandoned fury - mixing bowls, platters, jars of assorted spices - she growled and moved on to the drawers below, fingers shaking. She feverishly searched, her breath leaving her in gasps, but her mind focused.

A weapon. A knife. Nothing would rival her rapier, but she knew how to fight. All she needed was protection.

She’d run back to the Lyrique.

She’d fight her way to where she’d left Tikki - a drawer full of spoons.

Then she’d transform - a clang of rolling pins.

She’d save the city - clatter of cookie cutters and icing spigots.

The last drawer was open, the measuring cups gleaming in the thin light. She stepped back panting, fruitlessly still searching with her eyes.

At the sudden reeling sway of chills that rose on her skin, she shut her eyes and tightly grabbed the skirts of her ruined dress. Nothing.

There was nothing. How was there _nothing?_

The cracks against her wall of confidence - they wouldn’t get her. She was strong.

_She was strong._

She was powerless.

_She was Coccinelle._

Not without Tikki.

_She’d promised herself._

She’d lied.

_She’d promised Paris._

She was weak.

_She would save them._

She couldn’t even save herself.

_She would win._

How?

The back door suddenly opened, and she let out a choking gasp, whipping to glance over her shoulder.

_Please don’t be - Please don’t be -_

A small child, dressed in green, emerged from the rain and shut the door behind him. A brilliant emerald shield on his arm and a mask of green and orange covering the top of his face, his eyes found hers and a gentle smile lifted his thin lips.

“It’s you...” she mumbled, unable to say anything else.

 _“Bonjour,”_ he greeted, his voice pleasantly light with a foreign lilt.

Blue gaze drifting over his small shoulder - the relief made her shoulders sag. No curling blond hair or green eyes. Baker Boy was still gone.

But there was another blond-

“Where is Chat?” she asked, forcing her voice to remain calm - it came out tense between her teeth.

“He is indisposed at the current moment.” A light bow from the waist, the boy regarded her with quiet observation - like he’d just been handed a delicate puzzle to solve. “My name is Jade Turtle. I believe I have something of yours-”

 _“Solene!”_ The voice squeaked, and she felt her knees grow weak at the crimson blur that rushed from the boy’s robe.

 _“Tikki!”_ she cried, the kwami zipping into her arms. Cradling the precious creature in her hands, the relief was so staggering she could hardly breathe. “Oh, Tikki, I’m sorry-”

“You saved me, Solene!”

“No, no, I left you alone and I didn’t know what to-”

“You kept me from being discovered!”

“But I should have realized how useless I’d be without-”

“I am delighted you two are reunited, but time is pressing,” the boy injected - the smile across his lips. “The akuma is increasing her power. The Black Cat has been tasked with chasing her down. Please transform to join him.”

“How do you know-” she began, but he cut her off with a raised hand.

“Questions shall be answered later. Right now, Paris needs you.”

O-Okay.” She nodded, her shoulders straightening with her strengthening wall of confidence. “Tikki, _Tra-”_

The words crumbled away, the whisper of death immediately crawling inside. Mouth open, the momentarily forgotten chills began their journey up and down her spine. The words for her transformation - they wouldn’t leave her throat; caught in the memories of liquid iron on her tongue.

_Death surrounded her._

_Chat - mother - “You left me!” - it was her fault - phantom - chasing death - it hurt-_

She could do it - she was strong.

She was strong.

_And yet-_

_Burning cold_ \- freezing the words she needed to say. Lips parted, she stared into those unnatural orange eyes that were tossing with invasive scrutiny. The boy studied her for a minute longer before he dropped his gaze to the floor. She let go of a long breath like she had been released from some sort of spell.

“I knew it,” the boy sighed - and the disappointment in his voice cracked something inside her. “I knew it was you.”

The lanterns grew darker, shadows casting deep across the bakery walls. They crept up, closing in - suffocating.

“Me? Wha-What about me?” She shot back defensively - with a trembling voice.

“You are so afraid.”

 _Afraid._ The word hit a mallet against her and she shook her head.

 _No!_ The denial was there, but she couldn’t speak. Tikki’s worried gaze drifted from her to the boy slowly. She floated away as Solene’s hands rose to grip her arms tightly.

She would physically keeping the wall up if she had to.

And she _had to._

“Oh, Solene…” the kwami chimed, sadly.

“I am so sorry,” Jade Turtle said softly. The shadows stretched further. “The dissonance between you and your partner - it begins with you. There is so much pain inside. So much _loneliness.”_

Indignant, the words finally sprang to her lips. “No. I am _fine._ I have-”

“-No one.” The boy finished, tilting his head again. He narrowed his hard stare at her face - her eyes. “You have no one. And you have surrounded yourself with what you think is strength. You have stood tall with crumbling soil beneath your feet. I see - you crawl back up only for your foundation to continually collapse. The darkness is closing in-”

 _“I can do it!”_ she snapped, the hot rush of anger unexpected and unwelcome. Guilt swam inside, tight and squirming.

“You lash out because you are so _tired._ You have had to be your own light and fan your own flame, but you have grown so weary.” He sighed shortly. “They warned this could happen. Without proper training… this is my _fault_.”

“Guardian?”

Tikki’s sweet voice seemed to snap him from his thoughts and he blinked back to Solene with an expression of deep self-loathing. It looked foreign on his youthful face. Too old for someone so young.

 _“I am so sorry,”_ he said again, remorse gripping so hard his small shoulders shook. “I am so sorry for my lack of experience. I am so sorry I have put you here in this darkness. But I can help you, dear Chosen. I can pull you out.”  

“I-I don’t-”

Jade took a step towards her and she stumbled back into the cabinets, truly scared. The shadows were growing closer.

“You will face moments where you are alone, your back is pressed against the wall, and no one will come for you.”

She fought against the darkness, the _fear._

“I am Coccinelle!” Solene countered, forcing herself to stand tall even though her limbs shook like fragile leaves. “I will fight and save and protect!”

“No.” The boy simply shook his head.

 _“I am Coccinelle!”_ She shouted angrily.

“You are,” he acknowledged. “But I am not speaking to Coccinelle. I am speaking to Solene Montilyet.”

The confidence drained away - shadows encroaching further. Her arms wrapped tighter around her chest.

“You believe being Coccinelle is the reason you fight and save and protect, but I speak to the one who saw a desperate cry of a young child and rushed to save a life. The one who _earned_ to be Coccinelle. The Miraculous of Creation does not make you _who_ you are.” He gestured to her - ragged dress, messy hair, thundering heart underneath her corseted breast. _“This_ is who you are. You are Solene Montilyet - brave, fearless, and strong. And so _stubborn_ when all you need to do is accept the help from those around you."

“I don’t need anyone!”

Jade let out a small laugh as she blinked in surprise. “Of course, you do. Your soul is crying for it.”

“I don’t cry!”

“Perhaps you should.”

“I can do this _alone!”_

“But you _aren’t_ alone. You don’t have to keep crawling back up on your crumbling foundation. You don’t have to fan the flames on your own. You have a _partner_ for a reason, Solene. No one who is Chosen is expected to be alone-” his youthful face unexpectedly tightened,”-not even the Guardians…”

He took another step closer, only an arm-length away, those orange eyes staring unblinkingly bright up at her. “So, I ask again - not to _Coccinelle,_ but to _you,_ Solene Montilyet: you will face moments where you are alone, your back is against the wall, and you have no one. What do you do?”

Her answer came reluctantly: “I… I fight-”  

_“You tear down the wall.”_

The words held her, a warm echoing timbre inside her heart. Her arms dropped to her sides and the darkness around them whisked away - the gently blooming light enveloping the bakery like a hug. Breaking her gaze from his gentle face, she took in the sight of the bakery with new eyes. Like a vision, she could see the jovial, larger-than-life Monsieur Dupain, grinning and welcoming her into the warm bakery. Arms open wide with a promise of free cookies.

_A parent._

Marjoline, forcing Solene to sit still, her wispy hair and wrinkled brow scrunched in concentration behind her head in the mirror. Armed with the warm chide that was always ready to fly from her mouth like a verbal trebuchet. Smiling kindly - pride and love in her eyes.  

_A mentor._

Louis Cesaire, hiding the grin behind his hand as she made faces behind Claudette’s back. Defending her. Back straight, but an easy smile seeming readily available.

_A friend._

Chat - her partner. His arms cradling her close as he carried her away from the Théâtre. Desperation in every muscle as he fought to save her while a crowd surged to bring him down. His mouth close to hers in the moonlit garden outside her house. A whirl of colorful flowers as he jumped in to save her.

_A lover._

A warm blush washed the chilling burn inside her, but Solene shook her head. “But no one must know who I am. Tikki said I have to keep Coccinelle a secret.”

“And you think that means you have to face everything on your own?” Jade Turtle’s lips curled with a sideways grin. “Being Chosen is the exact opposite of being alone.”

“I’m always here, Solene!” Tikki chirped happily.

“Precisely. You simply need to see the outstretched hands waiting for you. They are all around you. You are the one keeping them walled away. ”

“But _Gaspard...”_

“Ahh, the young baker.” Jade sighed. There was a flash of realization in his eyes before his smile grew even wider. “He is but another hand waiting for you beyond the wall.”

“He isn’t. He hates me,” she said darkly.

His unexpected snort of laughter made her scowl.

_“What?”_

“You’d be surprised,” he chuckled.

“Surprised?”

“Later.” He grinned with a wave of his hand - before his kind face grew serious. “Your partner is waiting for you to join him.”

“Chat…” she whispered.

“Can you do it.” The words were more of a demand than a question.

“I-I…” Eyes flicking to Tikki, the kwami remained silent, watching and waiting.

It was a breathless second of indecision before her fingers curled into fists against her dirty skirts. Mouth lifting, shoulders squaring, she caught the boy’s proud smile and gave one sharp nod.

“Tikki…”

The crimson kwami beamed happily.

“Transformez-moi!”

**************************

The blacken Parisian streets were a damp, dark journey, lighted only by the rain drenched lanterns lining the empty roads. Head down, coat tucked to his thick neck, Marcus Dupain kept his deep brown eyes low, slick cobblestones marking his slow progress back to the bakery. Teeth gritted behind his lips, his thick fists were clenched inside his coat pockets. The worry, the irritation - it twisted inside him.

How dare he - that Vill-whatever his name was.

_How dare…_

_“There is no need to protect her.”_

_“She could have saved Jacque!”_

_“She needs only test her abilities - see how far she can take them-”_

“He will never...” The words stuck as he whispered them into the thick collar of his coat, a scowl carving sharp on his brow. “I will not let him - she is safe - not while I draw breath-”

Marcus stopped short, just a block away from a familiar thin alleyway, the frown dropping into a curve of worried nostalgia. He had taken the route many times before, the bakery cart in tow with some delivery or another, but his memory of her: swinging like an angel of heaven, tackling the flowering monster, crying for him to run.

And he had left her: a small girl. To face the creature alone. The _akuma,_ as they were called.

Helpless as he was against this unknown magic plaguing Paris, Marcus knew the man - this _scientist -_ was a monster he could face on her behalf. _He_ could tell _her_ to run while he held the beast at bay.

Marcus turned down the alleyway, his pathway steady and footsteps surer on the loose stones.

It was upon entering the long walkway to the bakery’s back door, Marcus stopped short, movement around the lantern light catching his eye.

A splash of red and there she was: Coccinelle - standing with a young boy dressed in a shadowy green garb. She nodded to him importantly before her arms yanked the boy off his feet. He squawked as she hugged him tightly to her tabard dress for a moment. Letting him go, tipping her hat, and slinging her weapon into the rainy sky, the boy was still visibly reeling from the hug until he turned - and met Marcus’s gaze.

His eyes were an eerie brilliant orange.  

“I-I…” Marcus stumbled, but the boy instantly rushed from the light, vanishing into the shadows beyond the alleyway. Breath tight in his chest, the baker walked slowly forward, brown eyes searching.

 _“I apologize,”_ a lightly accented voice whispered behind his back. Turning rapidly on toe, Marcus saw nothing but darkness.

 _“There is a deep kindness inside you. I can see it.”_ The voice was behind him again. Swiveling back around, his heart was in his throat.

There was no one.

“What… what…” Marcus tried, the taste of panic was sharp, his words hesitantly emerging.

_“You mustn’t remember this. It is too dangerous for you. But I am glad to see such a pure heart surrounding my Chosen. You were the first to show me that inherent goodness still exists in this world. I am grateful for you.”_

Back pressed against the wall, eyes glazing over every toss of light, movement, flicker. The voice spoke to him - a purr in his right ear: _“Take care of them, Marcus Dupain. They will need you before the end.”_

The words struck, and the warm darkness tossed over his eyes.

**************************

Caught in her stare.

Another.

And another.

An entire carriage halted as it passed - the horses clobbering to a stop. As one, the footman, the driver, and those inside the carriage filed in behind her, following the hundreds crossing the bridge with her. Fingers tight around Bernard’s large hand, the veil was ethereally still around her face: untouched by both wind and rain.

And still more came.

A young child running by.

An elderly man sitting on a bench.

Two lovers embraced in the shadows of a broken street lamp.

Subjects. Slaves. An army at her beck and call.

The Empress stopped and the thunder of feet behind her stilled - awaiting her every command.

She let her gaze roam up the two large towers, the line of carved saints. Jutting spire, gargoyles spouting the fallen rain, her eyes finally fell on The Last Judgement, which spiraled like a portal to her chosen Kingdom.

“Come, Roland.”

She turned to Bernard’s golden eyes with a lovely smile. Walking with her army, she stepped towards Notre Dame de Paris.

“Our sanctuary awaits.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered changing the location of my akuma fight considering the great tragedy that has befallen one of the most famous historical cathedrals in the world: Notre Dame. At this time in the story, the cathedral had been rebuilt from the Revolutionary War - with added spire. 
> 
> And now that spire is gone. 
> 
> I decided to keep it as I planned it, and dedicate my time and research to painting the beautiful cathedral as it was.


	19. Veiled Empress Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to paint my little sunshine boy. :) (yes, that's flour on his pants)  
> Solene/Coccinelle's painting is the very first chapter if you haven't seen it yet.

 

Muscles straining, quick as a stalking shadow, Chat launched high over the dark rooftops. The piercing cold rain pricked against his face. His staff spun in his fingertips, his green eyes narrowing tightly; senses guiding him on the akuma’s trail towards the Seine. Landing crouched on the beige dome of the Lyrique, he focused.

Hunted.

A jolt hit his stomach and his enhanced sight instantly snapped to the large Cathedral just a short distance away. Notre-Dame de Paris jutted like an apocryphal titan against the stormy sky. Straightening, Chat wiped the wet blond locks from his eyes and glanced over his shoulder for a sign of red.

His shoulders fell with disappointment.

_“For the moment, the lead is yours. Pick up where she cannot.”_

“Pick up where she cannot…” he repeated under his breath. Something must have happened to her. But the turtle boy was right. He could do this.

_He wasn’t useless._

With one more hopeful look casted at the cloudy skyline, his claws curled into fists at his side and he turned his full attention the empty Pont au Change bridge. The lack of pedestrians on the streets unnerved him. Even the Place du Châtelet Square was completely devoid of life. No wayward citizens wandering the night streets, no beggars sleeping in the darkened corners.

Aside from the rain, all was silent and unearthly still.

Chat launched from the Théâtre towards the bridge, landing with muted steps in the shadow of a broken street lamp. He glanced warily towards an abandoned buggy sitting in the middle of the street. Doors wide open and seats empty, Chat gasped as the tethered horse suddenly turned to gaze at him; gold unnaturally bright in its large unblinking eyes.

Sliding past the horse, Chat quickly hurried across the bridge, chills seeping down his spine. The lanterns along Boulevard du Palais were extinguished, the roads deathly quiet. Stumbling, Chat’s enhanced vision barely helped him avoid the loose cobblestones along the sidewalk. Long trees snarled over the empty road, casting an even deeper shadow down the ghostly street.

A few more abandoned carriages, bits of litter and paper - not a soul in sight.

Ducking around another golden-eyed horse, Chat had just past the beautiful Palais de Justice gates when he noticed a small figure standing in the middle of Rue de Lutèce. Heart in his throat, he rushed crossed the street. She was facing away from him, her hands clasped tightly on her skirts.  

“Petite fille!” he hissed, reaching to touch her shoulder. “Are you okay-?”

She turned to him, eyes a sickly golden hue. He stumbled back as her mouth popped open and she let out a blood-curdling scream. It pierced through the silent night, echoing through the streets.

It was a signal fire.

Boot catching, he whirled as a hunkering shadow growled from around a doorway. Another emerged from a deep crevice underneath an awning. More appeared behind him, slipping from walls, climbing over gates. One crawled from underneath a carriage.

Every eye laced with gold.

Every eye fixated on him.

Frantically grabbing his weapon, a hand snatched the back of his coat, and Chat gasped, wrenching himself from snagging fingers. Stumbling away, countless more leaped from second story balconies, pouring into the street to get him. Fumbling for the button, he pressed it and his staff propelled him into the safety of the skyline-

Bodies immediately crowded, grabbing for the metal pole still braced on the ground. They collided into it, knocking him off-balance.

A cry escaped his lips. Careening towards a slanted roof, grappling desperately for the edge-

His finger tip grazed - he missed.  

A shiver of cold terror - he fell.

The ground rushing to meet him with a crowd of golden eyes - “Gotcha!”

A strong gloved hand snatched him around the waist and, stomach leaving the world behind, his sight was only a swinging blur of rain, darkness, and cloudy sky. Arms clasped around her small shoulders, breath catching in his chest, Chat blinked into her blue eyes and a tidal wave of relief rushed from head to toe. Holding him tightly to her side, she swung away from the swarming streets, zipping to the Notre Dame. She whirled the yoyo’s string around the Cathedral’s Spire before slipping gracefully to a flat rooftop shop on the north side of the Church.

Coccinelle let him go as soon as their feet hit solid ground, hurrying to peer over the edge at Rue du Cloître-Notre-Dame. Chat doubled over to catch his breath, his mind a dazed whirl.

She was here. She really came.

“All those golden-eyed ghouls saw us land over here. We don’t have long before they climb the walls to get us. The entire Cathedral is surrounded, too. No doubt, the akuma’s buried herself inside like a queen bee.” She trailed off quietly, a bitter bite in her voice.

Chat hardly heard a word she said, the blood rushing in his ears. He could only stare at her, his stomach squirming with adrenaline and relief. Wind tossing her tabard red dress, she glanced at him, her hat casting the top part of her face in deep shadow. Lips curled in her usual confident smirk, Chat’s quiet eyes slipped to spy her hands - fingers trembling at her side.

A betrayal behind the bravado.

_“I have faith you will be the one to restore the balance.”_

Straightening, he took a step towards her. Coccinelle’s head tilted up curiously, the low-light reflecting a tight expression in her blue eyes.

“Chat? Are you okay? You look upset.”

“Coccinelle…” he whispered, before boldly reaching for the sleeve of her blouse. Tugging her close, he threw his arms around her thin shoulders, pulling her flush against him. The girl let out a strangled squeak, fingers latching around his waist to catch herself from falling over. She froze, tensed; hat knocked to the side of her head. Her cheek pressed against his thundering heart, breath short and uneven on his coat.

 _“Ch-Chat?”_ His name was the mixture of a bewildered wheeze and a giggle.

Chin tucked on her hat, realization hit him like a slap in the face.

Wait. He was hugging her. Without permission. A girl. Who was his age. He’d just thoughtlessly grabbed her and - mouth opening and closing, he tried to let her go, but his arms wouldn’t obey. Didn’t want to obey.

Heat lit up his cheeks. The beginnings of a mental panic back and forth.

Was this inappropriate? Disrespectful? She was his partner. And he was so relieved to see her. And her hands were shaking. He’d just reacted on impulse. But she was a girl. Technically he knew absolutely nothing about her. 

He should let her go.

Chat’s heightened sense of smell caught a familiar waft of sweet coming from her hair. He blinked in surprise.

Her scent was home.

 _His_ home.

Bending his head, he inhaled slowly. Her sugar scent was tinged with a spice, almost like a dust of cinnamon.

 _Yearning. Needing._ His inner cat whispered.

Arms tightening around her, his clawed hands tangled in her thick, fragrant locks. Her shaking fingers gripped on the fabric of his long coat - pulling herself even closer. A long sigh escaped her lips, holding the weight of some secret burden trapped inside.

_Restore the balance._

A sudden strangled giggle left her, and his stomach lurched - the mood broken.

Blistering white-hot embarrassment, arms finally obeying, he quickly let her go with a jumping step, and rubbed his neck nervously. Hands hovering in the air for a brief indecisive moment, a familiar sassy grin was spreading on her lips. It was both relieving and humiliating to see it.

“And what was that for?” she asked, hip cocking to the side.

Frozen for a half-second, words began tumbling out of his mouth like breadcrumbs.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean... I mean, I _meant_ to, but uh - thank you, Coccinelle. For the save back there and the akuma from last time and, I, uh, I was worried you weren’t okay and I wasn’t able to see you because we don’t know each other and I’ve been wanting to speak with you for a long time about-” He cut off his broken, rambling speech and reached back for the drawing tucked in his belt.

She stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, Chat, but whatever you need to say - can it wait?” Uncharacteristic seriousness had crested over her eyes. “I want to take care of the akuma first. After that, you can tell me whatever you want. I promise.”

Mouth closing with a snap, he was nodding before he registered what he was agreeing to, his cheeks flushed hot. His hand dejectedly dropped back to his side.

_So close._

She shook her head, dark hair flicking over her shoulders. “I don’t mean to be rude. Trust me, I’m _very_ interested in what you have to say. It’s just this-” Coccinelle paused for a moment, turning back to look at the gothic Cathedral, “-this is personal.”

He frowned. “Personal? How-”

_“For the Veiled Empress!”_

The roar erupted from behind his head and Chat spun on toe with his heart in his throat. He’d been so focused on Coccinelle, he hadn’t heard them - three large figures sprinting towards them like mad men possessed. They closed in quick. Chat snagged his staff and blocked an outstretched hand just in time. Knocking the assailant in the solar plexus with the edge of his pole, the man went down with a gurgling grunt.

“Coccinelle!” Chat shouted as the other two zeroed in on her. Withdrawing her rapier and yoyo, she charged, nimbly dodging their blind punches. A quick snap with the flat of her blade and a spin of her yoyo, and they fell into a heap at her feet.

“Hope your powers can fix their future headache,” he said with a wince.

But more were coming, hands clawing over the side of the building.

“We need to go!” Chat called, readying to push the button on his staff. “Come on!”

“No.” She stood her ground, thoughts flashing before her eyes. “What we need is an edge. _Lucky Charm!”_

Green eyes wide, he watched the yoyo spin beautifully in the air before something spotted landed in her palm. She froze, holding her Lucky Charm like a lost child.

Chat’s stomach lurched. A group of dark shadows were approaching her immediate right.

“Coccinelle! We need to go _now!”_

“A hand mirror?” She ignored him, grasping the delicately carved handle. _“Why…?”_

“Coccinelle!”

He jumped in front of her just as four bodies tumbled over each other to reach her. She stumbled away, and he extended his staff, holding them back. Their fingers tore at his clothes, his hair - their golden eyes narrowing with blind obedience. He gritted his teeth, muscles straining as a few more joined the fray, pushing against him.

“Run!” Chat hollered at her horror. “I’ll hold them off!”

There was a moment of breathlessness, arms shaking with the pressure of hands and bodies.

“ _Look over here!”_

Her shout caught him off-guard and he lost his footing. Falling hard on the paved roof, the back of his head cracked and he saw stars. Staff pressed against his chest, the weight of five grown men held him down.

She slid to the ground, protectively snapping the mirror in front of their snarling faces.

“Look!” she cried.

They instantly stopped - staring in fascination at the mirror’s reflection.

And, one by one, the gold bled from their eyes.  

She continued to crouch over him, holding the mirror carefully as confused civilians shook off the akuma’s mind control. Hands releasing him, they stood together, murmuring to themselves in bewilderment.

“Where… Where am I?”

“Oh, Dieu! I hate heights!”

_“It’s the Heroes of Paris!”_

“The Heroes of Paris!?”

“Wow! He really _is_ a cat!”

Still panting, head pulsing, her hand dipped to help him up. Grabbing her fingers, she looked worried.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll live.” He grimaced, reaching back to feel the damage. “I guess we’ll see if your powers can take away my headache as well.”

Standing as one, both heroes turned to the dark Cathedral: a spinning yoyo and a staff at the ready.

And this time, a lucky charm on their side.  

“Got a plan?” he asked quietly.

Her earrings chirped as she grinned up at him.

“Don’t I always, Tiger?”

***************************

She wasn’t lying. She had a plan.

But - if she was being honest, it wasn’t a very good one.

Cheeks blushing crimson - thankfully hidden in the dark night - she was a mix of emotions: fear, anxiety - euphoric delight from Chat’s unexpected hug. Glancing down at the silent crowd of chilling golden eyes, she scoffed through her apprehension. Naturally, someone as awful as Claudette would make the entire city of Paris a nightmarish hellscape when akumatized.

Coccinelle knew her fragile plan could easily fall spectacularly to pieces.

 _Oh Dieu,_ she hoped she didn’t regret this.

Casting the yoyo, they rounded the gothic arches, Chat at her heels, and landed on top of the north tower of Notre Dame. The howling drizzling rain felt like stinging needles of ice.  

“Once we’re inside, how do we get close to the akuma? We can’t free everyone with the mirror.” His voice, half-yelled in her ear through the wind, was spiked with worry. Chat stood close to her back to shield her from the worst of the weather, coat billowing out and blond curls tossing into his eyes.

She shook her head. “We only need to free one. I know someone who can get close to her for us.”

“You know someone?” Chat’s confusion was palpable, but she didn’t explain further.

Tossing the yoyo, she swung over the edge and both heroes dropped to the second story balcony behind the three large statues of _Madonna and Child._ The frozen faces of the winged angels sent a chill of unease down her spine.

“I never realized how creepy statues are,” she murmured before turning to her partner with a nod.

Chat activated his power but paused, his blackened hand hovering over a frame in the large round window. “I don’t know, Coccinelle. What if my power destroys more than the window? Everything in this church is basically a relic. I don’t want a bolt of lightning to strike me.”

“If that happens, hopefully I can put you _both_ back together again.” Her earrings blinked. Tense nerves shot down her spine. “That is - if we don’t get this done and _quickly.”_

Wincing painfully, he snapped his eyes shut. Ebony claws grazing the window, the colorful stained-glass corroded into ash. His power quickly spread, eating away the thick solder and before stopping just at the stone frame.

“Big enough for us to get inside. Not bad, Chat. And here you thought you’d bring down the entire Cathedral.” She grinned up at him and he let out a low sigh of relief.

Slipping through, they landed below the organ pipes on the second floor and crouched, eyes scoping the scene under the cover of darkness. Lit candlesticks, torches on pikes, it was just enough light to see-

“Whoa…”

“Yeah…”

The Nave was filled with civilians, many dressed in fine suits and evening gowns; a hoard of worshipers as still as stone. All were bowing their heads at a brilliant candlelit figure standing just below a large statue of the _Pieta._ Veiled Empress, in all her sacrilegious golden-eyed glory, was surrounded in a circle of kneeling men, her pale simpering face devoid of her veil. Coccinelle’s stomach churned with disgust as she zeroed in on her father’s dark head amongst them.

_Father..._

Letting go of a deep breath, she forced herself to focus. One quick scan, she immediately found Bernard, who was stationed at the front of the circle right below the Empress’ feet.

Singled out from the masses.

“Don’t look into her eyes,” Chat hissed out and Coccinelle brushed down the urge to roll hers. “The akuma can put you under her spell even if she isn’t looking at you.”

“Got it.” She mumbled with a furtive smirk. “Any idea where her power source might be hiding?”  

Chat shook his head. “My guess would be her veil.”

“Or her robe. Or anywhere.”

“Maybe it’s her shoe.” He shot at her cheekily and she nudged his arm.

“See that dark-headed idiot at the front of the circle? The one closest to her?” she whispered, pointing. “That’s the one we need.”

Chat frowned. “So, what? We jump down there, grab him, and run?

“Basically.”

“Why don’t we just take her on right now?”

“We could barely handle a small handful of her mindless ghouls without getting overwhelmed. You want to take on a full congregation of them - be my guest.”

“So, we are sending a _civilian_ down there to do our job,” he muttered distastefully. “How do you know he’ll even help us?”

Her lip curled down, and dread swam thick in her stomach.

_Please let this be a good idea._

“Just… just trust me,” she sighed.

***************************

_He was Roland._

_That was his name now._

_He wasn’t sure why - but it didn’t matter._

_It was what she called him, so that was who he was._

_She commanded him to kneel, he obeyed._

_He knelt._

_And stayed._

_Even as his joints in his knees ached on the stone floor. Even as he shivered from the damp that had seeped into his coat from the rain._

_It didn’t matter._

_Nothing mattered._

_Only her._

_She was his beacon, his light. He had been washed anew by this golden goddess. She was whispering tensely under her breath, a few words here and there catching his straining ears. Looking into her glorious eyes and he longed for her radiant voice to ring louder - the sound of it akin to a harmonic chorus in his head. She reached up to touch the silver crown and a scowl crunched charmingly on her brow._

_“They won’t take it.” He barely caught the words. “I’m completely surrounded. My crown is safe.”_

_Enraptured, he smiled at her anger._

_Even when enraged, she was beauty incarnate-_

_A tight string sprang from the dark ceiling to whirl around his chest. He caught his Empress’ wild eyes before the wire yanked him off the floor and he was tossed high into the air. His sight was a spinning maelstrom of stained-glass, vaulted archway ceilings, and columns. He cried out, beginning to descend-_

_“Oof!”_

_Hard arms in a black coat caught him around the middle and the breath was snatched from his lungs. Coughing, he soared to a second story balcony and was unceremoniously dumped on the floor. Squirming, fists ready to fight, his back was pressed against the hard-wooden benches and a gloved hand reached out to grab his chin._

_“My Roland!” His Empress shrieked from below._

_“Em-mph” A black palm smacked across his lips._

_A red and black spotted mirror flicked over his face._

***************************

He blinked, the gold draining away from his chocolate brown eyes. Crouched over his lap, Coccinelle held the mirror - and her breath. Bernard stared hard at his reflection, awareness slowly dawning. Gaze leaving the mirror, he glanced around, an openly lost expression on his face - until they slipped to her eyes.

Knocking Chat’s hand from his mouth, a grin of incredulous joy spread on his lips. Leaning forward, he grabbed her shoulders and she gasped in surprise as he pulled her closer.

“She-she did it! It worked! You’re here! Coccinelle, I-”

“Keep your hands to yourself!” Chat growled, swiping an arm and breaking his grip.

“It’s okay,” she reassured - more to herself than anyone else. Turning to Chat’s scowl, she gave him what she hoped was a defusing smile. “Trust me. He’s the only one who can do this.”

Bernard’s mouth popped open in surprise. “I’m… I’m the only one? You-you… _need me?”_ Eyes crinkling with delight, his shoulders straightened with importance against the bench. “I’ll do whatever you want, Coccinelle. I am yours.”

“Aren’t you compliant?” Her partner scoffed, belt-tail whipping the air behind his back. “Are you sure about this?”

She attempted to shrug, but fatigue and regret were starting to weigh her down. Instead, her shoulders sagged lower. “If anyone can get close to grab her veil, it’s him.”

Bernard frowned. “Her veil?”

Chat gave him a pointed look. “It’s where her power source is. We have to destroy it to free her-”

“It’s her crown.” Bernard cut in sharply.

Coccinelle blinked and caught Chat’s eye for a moment. “The crown?”

Bernard nodded, and he shifted a little closer to her; obviously enjoying having her full attention. “She’s been protective of it. Worrying over it. She constantly talks to some invisible person demanding ‘they’ll never take it away from her’.”

“Are you sure?” Chat said, voice edging skepticism.

All excitement deflated as Bernard scowled at the blond. “Yes, I am sure. I’ve been forced to look at her for hours. Maybe if you were more observant you’d have noticed before you ran off with Solene earlier!”

“Yeah, I guess I was too busy saving her from _chains!”_ Chat snapped.

Blue eyes closing, a pain pricked between her eyebrows.

_This was quickly turning into worst case scenario._

“Solene brought this on herself!”

“What are you talking about!? Of course, she didn’t!” Chat cried.

“You don’t know her like I do! She’s the one who summons the-”

 _“Find him! Bring him back to me! I must have my Roland!”_ The akuma’s banshee shrills made all three wince. The echo of her voice was followed by the thundering timbre of a hundred footsteps, the long benches along the Nave screeching raucously against the tile floor as every man, woman, and child jumped to obey - to hunt.

It was now or never.

Heart hammering in her ribcage, she unstrapped the yoyo from her waist and held the mirror out for Bernard.

“Listen, I need you to use this as a shield against her eyes. Get close enough to take off her crown-”

“Wait! This might be my only chance to tell you!” Bernard jumped to his feet, snatching her gloved wrist instead of the Lucky Charm in her hand. Yanking her up, she gasped as he closed more space between them, his dark eyes shining.

“Hey!” Chat barked, leaping up to step between them. “We don’t have time for-”

“Coccinelle, I am in love with you!”

It was like glass shattering on a stone floor. The declaration, a dissonance that range mortifyingly loud, scorched heat to her cheeks. She was a blaze of disbelief - which slowly mutated into pure, unadulterated horror.

Of all the -

Of all the times for -

_And in front of -_

“ _What?”_ The word clipped from her partner’s lips. His black ears slowly flattened against his blond hair.

“I love you!” Bernard repeated, hand squeezing hers, brown eyes shining. “I want to marry you!”

All she could do was stare; rooted in this avalanching moment of humiliation.

Chat glared. “Don’t be absurd! You don’t even know her!”

“What does that matter? She’s my soulmate!” Bernard blazoned back.

Dropping the grip on her wrist, both boys met eye-to-eye. Tail lashing wildly, Chat’s claws clenched threateningly at his side. To his credit, Bernard didn’t back down; white-hot hostility flaring between them.

Meanwhile, like an unwanted reminder, her earrings chirped in her ears.

“Stop it, you two! I don’t have time for this!” Shoving the spotted mirror into Bernard’s chest, she turned to both: “We need to do this now or we will all get caught. You’re on a timer as well, Chat.”

Mouth open, his irritation drained away as his eyes zipped to the ring on his finger. Lips closing, he nodded shortly.

“Alright.”

“Your desire is my command,” Bernard added warmly.

Chat’s handsome face twisted with disgust and she gave Bernard a pain-filled smile.

“Chat, get Bernard as close as you can to the akuma - then get out of there. Use the shadows and be ready to back him up if he needs it. Bernard, hold the mirror to your face so she can’t bewitch you. It’ll shield you from her powers. Get as close as you can and grab the crown. I’ll swing in and destroy it. That’s the plan. Got it?”

Bernard nodded enthusiastically while Chat gave her a worried look.

“It’ll work,” she said to him, shining with what she hoped was a confident bravado.   

Her partner reluctantly grabbed Bernard around the waist. Likewise, the aristocrat grumbled under his breath as he looped his arms around Chat’s neck; the mirror tight in his right hand. They both looked away from each other, lips curled with loathing.

If she wasn’t so consumed with anxious dread - she probably would have giggled.  

“Good luck.”

Both boys slipped out from the balcony, Chat’s staff spinning faster than the eye could see. Veiled Empress’ scream of rage trumpeted in the middle of the Transept as soon as they appeared. Her partner was a black ghost, practically tossing Bernard to the end of the Nave before launching to the dark balcony on the other side. The ebony-haired boy stumbled; the scowl on his mouth visible even from Coccinelle’s point of view.

She held her breath, yoyo steady in her hand.

 _“There he is! Roland! My love! Come to me!”_ The akuma cooed, her hands reaching for him. The crowd parted, a sea of golden eyes focusing wholly on him. His back straightening, for a heart-stopping moment Bernard’s head lifted without the mirror.

Relief crashed as he raised up the Lucky Charm to his face and he walked down the man-made aisle towards the akuma.

The blonde at the altar tilted her head curiously, veil wisping around her.

_“What is this you have, Roland? Is it for me?”_

“Come on, Bernard…” Coccinelle hissed.

He was getting close. Striding up the altar steps, past the ring of men surrounding the akuma-

 _“Stop!”_ Veiled Empress suddenly yelped, backing away against the statue of _The Pieta_. _“Look at me, Roland! Look at me! Look into my eyes!”_

Bernard tripped about a meter away, the mirror visibly quaking in his fingers.

But he steadied on.

_“You have betrayed me! Just like Esclarmonde! Seize him!”_

Bernard turned, freezing in horror - hundreds surging to obey her command.

Chat suddenly appeared like an apparition on his left, swinging the staff in a wide arc. He knocked down a wave of people from Bernard’s right.

“Grab the crown, you dunderhead!” His insult echoed.

Veiled Empress screeched as Bernard immediately threw himself at her - tackling the akuma to the ground. Chat continued to sweep his staff back and forth, knocking assailants off their feet.

There were too many - he was surrounded within seconds.

Withdrawing the rapier and flicking the yoyo, she launched herself from the balcony to help Chat-

It was Bernard who saved the day.

Straddling the akuma’s waist, he turned the mirror around to shine it on her face. Mouth open, her gleaming eyes wide, she stared entranced just long enough for Bernard to wrench the crown off her head and toss it high into the air.

“Coccinelle!”

Changing course with a twist of her wrist, she dove for it, her rapier blade singing.

She slash - the twisted silver crown breaking apart as it fell to the carpeted floor.

The black butterfly twisted itself out from the fragments.

Landing awkwardly on the tile, Coccinelle yelped as she tipped backwards into the heavy bell-skirts of a squawking matron; knocking her to the ground. Tangled in thick fabric, she desperately swiped the yoyo open with a frantic finger and casted it up the escaping akuma-

A whirl of string.

A satisfying snap.

The butterfly was trapped inside.

She let go a long breath as the yoyo slipped obediently back into her awaiting palm. Releasing the latch, she groaned, falling back eagle-spread in the ruffles and lace.

The purified akuma fluttered to the church dome and slip out of sight.  

 _“No!”_ The akuma shrieked, the veil and robe dripping away to reveal a wrinkled nightdress. A tangled mess of blonde hair, Claudette’s ruddy cheeks were streaked with tears. The crowd stopped, the gold winking away from their eyes. Mulling questions began ringing throughout the church as they glanced around in confusion.

Coccinelle’s heart slipped to her throat as she spied Chat sinking to his knees. Leaping from the woman she was sitting on, she scrambled past the crowd of onlookers to catch him. He collapsed against her just in time; blond hair tickling the side of her neck as he leaned his forehead on her shoulder.

“Chat! Are you okay?”

Chat nodded as she helped him steady on his feet. Her blue eyes flicked all over him, taking in the damage. Hair tousled, coat crooked on his shoulders, he had a cut on his cheek. He gave her a charming lopsided smile that twisted her stomach into knots.

“That was close,” he groaned with a wince. “You did it, Coccinelle.”

“ _We_ did it!” A voice charged in boisterously. She felt Chat sigh as Bernard stomped towards them with Napoleonic grace, the mirror swinging confidently in his fingertips. Handing her the Lucky Charm, he yanked her away from Chat and drape his arm around her shoulders. Pressed against his side, she faced the confused Parisians.

Behind her, Chat let out a throaty breath - which sounded strangely like a hiss.  

“You and I, Coccinelle! We stopped the monster! I knew we were meant to be together! It’s destiny!”

“Ah-ha, yes - thank you for the assistance. Couldn’t have done it without you,” she rushed with a prick of irritation. Twisting out from under his arm, he snagged her fingers instead.

“I know it’s sudden, but you’ll see soon enough. You belong with-”

 _“Cat Boy!”_ A familiar angry bark snapped sharply.

Cold snarled down her spine. Resisting the urge to crawl under one of the benches, she watched helplessly as steel blue eyes latched on Chat’s face. Black hair disheveled, jacket missing, her father pushed past two gentlemen and stood at the threshold of the stairs, glaring up at her partner.

“You took her! My daughter! Where is she?”

“Y-Your daughter,” the blond stumbled - then the realization visibly hit him. “Wait, you’re Solene’s father!”

“Tell me where she is!”

“She’s-She’s safe, sir! I promise!”

“Bring her here!”

But - she was already here: her worlds colliding spectacularly together in an unmitigated disaster.

_Father._

_Chat._

_Bernard._

Gloved fingers clenching on the Lucky Charm - her seemingly boundless levels of anxiety drained away to pure exhaustion.

Her forehead spiked with a headache.

She was so tired.

She’d had enough for one day.

Her earrings chirped.

Without another thought, she tossed the mirror in the air; her call of _“Miraculous Ladybug!”_ whirling the magic around the Cathedral. She watched, shoulders sinking gratefully, as her spell swept the congregation of mulling masses back to the Lyrique. The magic spread out the doors of Notre Dame, crawling into the dark streets beyond.

Still holding her hand, there was a momentary flash of Bernard’s surprise indignation before he was also graciously whisked away.

Her spell ended by fluttering over Chat’s body. He straightened to touch the back of his head and give her a grin; the cut on his cheek completely healed.

There was a small wheeze behind her head and Coccinelle glanced over her shoulder.

Oh, right.

One last problem to take care of.

Claudette, staring wildly at them from the altar floor, sniveled in her wrinkled white nightdress. A whelp of pity raced inside at the pathetic sight. Claudette might be her enemy, but she couldn't help the stings of guilt. She'd pushed Claudette over the edge the other day gloating about Bernard. Tikki had warned her, but she'd brushed it off. She'd left Claudette a easy victim for Violet Empereur to prey on.

The girl squeaked as Coccinelle begrudgingly head up the altar steps, Chat joining her.

Taking the last step, she suddenly stopped short, blinking in surprise.

Something crinkled under her boot. Looking down, she spied a crumpled piece of rolled parchment and bent down to pick it up.

Curiously unrolling the paper - all thoughts washed away.

Lips parting, chills rushed down her spine, but a warmth pooled in her stomach. The dim candle light flickered over the finely detailed lines and intricate curves. The shading, the perfect catch of lace on the parasol - so realistic she could practically feel the softness of the woven cotton.

It was…

_She was-_

_Beautiful._

Her eyes blurred on the page, the thick burning intense. Her fingers shook the page.

Who could have-? Why would someone-? Why was this _here?_ Why would someone draw _her?_ Why?

_Why?_

She could physically feel the cracks in the wall. A bitter-sweet cut slicing inside. The picture was drawn with such care and want and-

_Love._

She blinked in surprise as the word spread chills down her spine. Yes, that what it was. Drawn with love - pure and simple.  

But…

_Who?_

“What’s that?” Chat asked, looking over his shoulder to see why she’d stopped following. His green eyes narrowed on the paper.

“It’s - It’s nothing!” she quickly evaded, biting her lip and swiftly rolling the parchment up. Taking her time to painstakingly tuck it safely in her belt, she ducked her face behind her hat until she knew her eyes were dry.

Her earrings chose that moment to spring into a tight, insistent shrill.

She was out of time.

Chat gave her a soft smile. “You better go. I can take her home.”

Coccinelle glanced at Claudette, regret beginning to seep in. “Are you sure-”

“ _Go.”_ He waved her off. “Unless you want me to know who you really are.”

“You’d probably faint with shock if you did.” She smirked.

Turning to throw the yoyo, his clawed fingers suddenly caught her hand and her heart jumped in her chest.  

“Wait, I-I never got to talk to you earlier. I know it’s been a long night, but can you meet me? Tonight? On top of the Dupain bakery? I really need to tell you something.”

She gave a soft furtive smile into those hopeful green eyes.

_What was with him and the Dupain’s?_

“I'll be there.”

His grin was like staring into morning sunlight.

“Thank you.”

And he let her go.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is loved and welcomed. :)  
> Follow me on tumblr for [fanart](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bluetreeleaves) fun!


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